b 


THE  WHITE  TERROR 


A    ROMANCE    OF    THE 

FRENCH   REVOLUTION 

AND   AFTER 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   PROVEN£AL   OF 

FELIX   GRAS 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  REDS  OF  THE  MIDI  AND  THE  TERROR 
BY 

CATHARINE   A.  JANVIER 


NEW   YORK 

D.   APPLETON   AND  COMPANY 
1900 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

PROLOGUE     I 

I. — THE  COMING  OF  THE  WHITE  TERROR  TO 

AVIGNON 21 

ii. — ADELINE'S  PERIL 29 

III. — SOME  RAGGED  REGIMENTS  .         ...      38 

IV. — A  STORY  OF  TWO  COWARDS     ...      45 

V. — THE  ARRIVAL  AT  MALEMORT     ...       54 

VI. — AT  THE  HOUSE  OF  MONSIEUR  RANDOULET      65 

VII. — THE  PARTING  AT  MALEMORT     ...      76 

VIII. — LA  PATINE  AND  OLD  PASCAL      ...      85 

IX. — STRANGE  FLITTINGS  IN  THE  NIGHT   .         .      93 

X. — THE  VISIT  TO  PASCAL  AND  LA  PATINE      .     IO2 

XI. — BRAVE  MARGAN Ill 

XII. — THE  AFFAIR  OF  VALMY       .         .         .         .     I2O 

XIII. — THE  BATTLE  OF  JEMAPPES  .         .         .13! 

XIV. — HOW  FRENCHMEN   FOUGHT  FOR   FRANCE    14! 

XV. — THE  FLIGHT  FROM  THE  GENDARMES          .     I  54 

XVI. — IN  THE  CROWS'  CHAPEL     .         .         .         .     1 62 

XVII. — A  PERILOUS  WALKTHROUGH  THE  FOREST    17! 

XVIII. — AT  PEIRE-AVON  /ARM         .         .         .         .     182 

XIX. — IN  THE  CAVE  WITH  THE  TWO  HOLES       .     191 

XX. — THE  EDGE  OF  THE  STORM          .         .         .    2OI 

XXI. — ON  THE  DEVIL'S  DYKE         ....    209 

XXII. — BEFORE  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  TRIBUNAL   2l8 


203S- 


iv  ®l)e  toi)ite  terror 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII. — A  LIFE  LAID  DOWN  ....  22<S 
XXIV. — THE  BURNING  OF  BEDOIN  .  .  .231 
XXV. — WHITE  TERROR  REIGNS  .  .  .  240 

XXVI. — THE  COMPANIONS  OF  JEHU     .         .         .    249 

xxvii. — A  DARK  NIGHT'S  WORK       .      .      .  257 

XXVIII. — THE  SERPENT  AND  THE  WREN      .         .    265 

XXIX. — THE  DEVIL  SERVES  THE  MASS        .         .273 

XXX. — A  SACRILEGIOUS  SACRAMENT         .         .    280 

XXXI. — WITHIN  CONSECRATED  WALLS      .         .    289 

XXXII. — A  MIDNIGHT  CONFERENCE      .         .         .    299 

XXXIII. — BY  FAIR  MEANS  OR  BY  FOUL          .         .    308 

XXXIV. — THE  LORD  BISHOP  OF  AVIGNON     .         .316 

XXXV. — A  PRAYER  TO  SAINT  URSULA         .         .    326 

XXXVI. — THE  PRICE  OF  VICTORY  .         .         .    336 

XXXVII. — ASH-WEDNESDAY  EVE    ....    344 

XXXVIII. — THE  VEIL  OF  SAINT  URSULA  .         .         -355 

XXXIX. — SLOW-PASSING  YEARS    ....    363 

XL. — ONCE  MORE  WHITE  TERROR  REIGNS     .    370 

XLI. — SANCTUARY 380 

XLII. — A     GRENADIER     OF     THE     EMPEROR'S 

GUARD 390 

XLIII. — INTO  A  DESERT  LAND  ....  399 
XLIV. — THE  RETREAT  FROM  MOSCOW  .  .  406 
XLV.  — "  FAREWELL,  PASCALET  !".  .  .  412 
XLVI. — THE  WHITE  FLAG  OF  SHAME  .  .  420 
XLVII.  — "  AFTER  ALL  STRIVING — PEACE"  .  428 


THE  WHITE  TERROR 


PROLOGUE 

WHEN  I  went  back,  after  the  holidays,  to  the 
little  seminary  of  La  Sainte  Garde — in  which, 
without  any  regard  to  how  /  felt  about  it,  my 
parents  were  bent  upon  keeping  me  shut  up  for 
my  mind's  improvement — I  no  longer  ranked  as 
a  new  boy.  All  of  a  sudden  I  had  become  an 
oldster;  and  on  top  of  that,  my  advanced  rating 
making  me  eligible  to  the  high  office,  my  com- 
rades gave  me  another  push  upward  in  the 
world  by  electing  me  game-master  of  the 
school. 

This  was  an  eagerly  coveted  position  that 
carried  with  it  both  honours  and  privileges.  I 
was  the  custodian  of  the  rackets,  of  the  bowls 
and  pins,  and  of  the  weighted  balls  which 
we  use  in  our  great  Provencal  game  of  boules. 
These  1  dealt  out  at  the  beginning  of  our  play- 
time, and  collected  again  and  took  charge  of 
when  our  play-time  came  to  an  end.  The  re- 
sponsibilities of  my  office  gave  it  dignity;  but 
its  especial  charm  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  provided 


2  ®l)e  tObite  terror 

me  with  a  delightful  den  that  was  all  my  own. 
I  alone  had  a  key  to  the  little  room  in  which  our 
play-gear  was  kept,  and  whenever  I  pleased  I 
could  hide  away  there  arid  lock  the  door  against 
the  world.  Many  and  many  a  time,  whilst  my 
school-fellows  were  tussling  painfully  with  the 
dead  languages,  I  was  stowed  away  at  my  ease 
in  my  snug  retreat — where  no  ushers  nor 
other  objectionable  creatures  could  bother  me — 
munching  comfortably  at  a  juicy  leek  or  a  fat 
red  onion  that  I  had  filched  from  the  steward's 
stores.  And  after  my  feast  I  could  enjoy  in  per- 
fect safety  my  reed  pipe  charged  with  potato- 
skins — or  even  sometimes,  and  this  was  the 
height  of  my  guilty  pleasures,  with  the  fag-end 
of  a  real  cigar!  Ah,  but  it  was  a  fine  place,  that 
little  room ! 

But  more  honours  were  in  store  for  me. 
Presently  I  was  appointed  sacristan  of  our  school 
Brotherhood  of  Saint  Louis  Gonzaga.  That  was 
a  position  worth  having — for  in  discharging  its 
duties  I  got  out  of  a  good  two  hours  of  school 
work  every  day!  In  the  morning  I  left  Vergil 
behind  me  while  I  served  the  mass  with  Mon- 
sieur 1'Abbe  Jan;  and  in  the  evening  I  threw 
aside  Lhomond's  grammar  that  1  might  go  and 
light  the  candles  on  the  altar  of  Saint  Louis 
Gonzaga  in  readiness  for  the  gathering  there  of 
our  little  Brotherhood.  Moreover,  with  the  ease- 
ments of  this  office  went  most  pleasing  emolu- 


Prologue 


ments.  As  we  were  forbidden  to  carry  matches 
in  our  pockets  (I  will  not  assert  that  the  order 
was  obeyed  scrupulously)  1  had  a  good  excuse 
for  going  every  evening  to  the  kitchen  to  light 
the  spill  with  which  1  then  went  onward  to 
light  the  altar  candles;  and  seldom  was  it,  the 
cook  being  a  kindly  creature,  that  I  failed  to 
carry  away  with  me  from  the  kitchen  a  little 
gift — a  half  dozen  of  olives,  a  handful  of  nuts,  a 
juicy  apple — that  later  made  a  feast  for  me  in 
my  den. 

And  then  came  the  climax  of  my  good  for- 
tune. Seeing  how  well  and  faithfully  I  dis- 
charged my  various  duties — and  knowing  noth- 
ing about  my  secret  feasts  on  the  cook's  presents 
and  on  my  stolen  leeks  and  onions,  or  about  my 
still  more  criminal  pipe-smoking — our  head 
master,  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Flechaire,  made  me  a 
monitor.  Now  that  was  something  like !  Being 
a  monitor  was  almost  the  same  thing  as  being 
an  usher — for  in  the  usher's  absence  the  monitor 
was  clothed  with  his  authority  in  the  matter  of 
keeping  order,  and  that  gave  him  a  fine  chance 
to  make  things  lively  for  the  other  boys !  But 
he  also  had  bothersome  duties — among  which 
were  teaching  their  catechism  to  the  boys  under 
him,  seeing  to  it  that  they  said  their  prayers  duly 
and  properly,  and  even  endeavouring  to  promote 
their  moral  welfare  by  preaching  sermons  to 
them. 


terror 


Twice  a  week  the  whole  school  was  taken 
out  for  a  tramp  in  the  country,  and  during 
the  walk  each  of  us  monitors  had  especial 
charge  of  ten  or  a  dozen  of  the  smaller  boys. 
These  were  the  occasions  on  which  our  ser- 
mons were  preached.  At  a  signal  from  Mon- 
sieur 1'Abbe  Flechaire,  we  monitors  would 
clap  our  hands:  and  at  that  our  boys  would 
stop  their  games  and  gather  around  us,  each 
little  group  being  well  separated  from  all  the 
others.  Then  we  would  tell  our  beads  to- 
gether, and  when  our  prayers  were  finished 
the  sermon — "the  lecture"  was  our  school 
name  for  it — would  be  preached:  a  little  talk 
about  the  saint  of  that  particular  day,  or  about 
the  chief  feast  of  that  particular  week,  or  about 
any  other  suitable  religious  matter  that  God 
was  pleased  at  the  moment  to  put  into  our 
small  minds. 

But  I  found  it  very  difficult — and  so,  I  don't 
doubt,  did  the  other  preachers — to  hold  my 
audience.  Sometimes  the-  little  fellows  would 
listen  to  me  and  sometimes  they  wouldn't. 
Generally  they  wouldn't.  All  about  us,  there 
on  the  countryside,  were  interesting  creatures 
which  flew  or  jumped  or  crawled — birds  and 
butterflies,  excited  crickets,  long  processions  of 
earnestly  laborious  ants.  You  see,  sermons — 
even  better  ones  than  mine — were  plentiful  in 
the  Seminary ;  but  we  had  only  two  half  holi- 


Prologue 


days  a  week  to  spend  out  in  the  fields  with  the 
good  little  beasts  of  God ! 

And  so  while  I  preached  away,  seated  on  a 
big  stone  and  trying  my  best  to  look  like  the 
cure  in  his  pulpit,  it  usually  happened  that  I 
found  myself  preaching  in  the  desert!  One  of 
my  little  auditors  would  be  giving  his  whole 
soul  to  the  goings  on  of  a  goldfinch ;  another 
would  be  lost  in  wonder  because  the  sound  of 
the  axe-blows  of  a  wood-cutter  across  the  ravine 
came  to  his  ears  so  long  after  the  sight  of  the 
blows  came  to  his  eyes;  another,  with  his  hand 
in  his  pocket,  would  be  counting  his  marbles — 
in  a  word,  they  all  would  be  looking  anywhere 
but  at  me,  and  would  be  thinking  of  anything 
but  my  sermon :  while  they  sucked  their  lungs 
full  of  the  sharp  pure  air,  sweet  with  the  smell 
of  the  wild  herbs — thyme  and  sage  and  lavender 
— that  were  crushed  beneath  their  feet,  and 
thought  only  of  getting  away  from  me  and  my 
preaching  and  at  play  again  on  that  great  beau- 
tiful open  countryside.  And  yet  1  preached 
most  instructively  and  told  many  edifying  things 
about  the  doings  of  the  greatest  saints  in  Para- 
dise! 

My  self-esteem  being  hurt  by  the  persistently 
wandering  wits  of  my  disciples,  the  thought  one 
day  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  secure  their  at- 
tention by  bribery.  On  this  thought  I  acted.  I 
told  them  that  if  they  really  would  listen  to  my 


tOljite  Bettor 


sermon  to  the  end,  would  listen  to  every  word 
of  it,  I  then  would  go  on  and  tell  them  a  story; 
not  a  made-up  story,  but  the  true  history  of  a 
dear  old  man  who  lived  in  my  own  village  of 
Malemort,  and  about  those  who  had  been  his 
enemies  and  his  friends.  That  there  might  be 
no  doubt  as  to  the  quality  of  my  wares  I  gave 
them  a  sketch  of  the  beginning  of  my  story  out 
of  hand — telling  them  that  Pascalet  (as  old  Pas- 
cal was  called  when  he  was  a  boy)  was  the  son 
of  a  wretchedly  poor  peasant  named  Pascal,  and 
of  his  wife  La  Patine,  who  lived  in  the  time  of 
the  great  Revolution  in  our  village  of  Malemort : 
which  in  those  days  was  owned,  as  were  all  the 
people  in  it,  by  the  Marquis  d'Ambrun,  it  being 
a  part  of  his  estate  of  La  Garde ;  that  the  Mar- 
quis's game-keeper,  a  wicked  creature  named 
Surto,  tried  to  murder  Pascalet;  that  Pascalet 
managed  to  escape  from  him  and  get  safe  to 
Avignon ;  that  there  he  enlisted  in  the  famous 
Marseilles  Battalion  and  went  on  with  it  to  Paris ; 
and  that  afterwards  he  fought  gallantly  in  the 
French  army  through  the  Great  Napoleon's  wars. 
Well,  when  1  had  told  them  that,  I  saw  that 
I  had  hitched  my  donkey  to  the  right  post  at 
last!  So  eager  were  they  for  the  story  that  they 
clustered  about  me  like  a  covey  of  partridges 
and  begged  that  I  would  begin  my  sermon  right 
away.  And  they  listened  to  it  loyally.  The 
birds  and  the  butterflies  flew  about  us  unnoticed. 


prologue 


The  crickets  and  the  ants  did  not  attract  a  single 
wandering  glance.  My  disciples  sat  still  as  little 
angels,  telling  their  beads  with  downcast  eyes 
and  then  listening  to  my  little  sermon  with  a 
devout  attention  most  edifying  to  behold.  And 
I  kept  my  promise  as  exactly  as  they  kept  theirs. 
When  my  sermon  was  finished  I  went  on — and 
to  the  watchful  eyes  of  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Fle- 
chaire,  who  was  seated  out  of  ear-shot,  I  seemed 
still  to  be  preaching — to  tell  them  the  story  that 
was  their  agreed  upon  reward. 

Pascalet  and  his  father  and  mother,  I  told 
them,  were  the  very  poorest  of  the  poor — living 
miserably  upon  black  bread  made  of  beans  and 
acorns,  and  not  getting  near  enough  even  of 
that,  and  dwelling  in  a  wretched  little  cabin: 
that  seemed  all  the  more  wretched  because  it 
was  close  by  the  Chateau  de  la  Garde,  the  splen- 
did home  of  the  Marquis  and  the  Marquise  and 
their  daughter  the  little  Comtessine  Adeline. 
This  little  girl  was  just  about  Pascalet's  age,  and 
she  was  the  only  person  in  Malemort — excepting 
his  own  father  and  mother  and  the  kind-hearted 
cure,  Monsieur  Randoulet — who  ever  was  good 
to  him. 

And  then  I  told  that  one  day  Pascalet  caught 
the  game-keeper,  Surto,  kissing  the  Marquise, 
and  heard  him  promise  her  that  he  would  mur- 
der the  Marquis  her  husband.  That  was  why 
Surto  tried  to  kill  Pascalet.  But  Pascalet  man- 


8  ftlje  fcObite  terror 

aged  to  get  to  the  house  of  the  good  cure  and  so 
was  safe. 

But  of  course  he  wouldn't  be  safe  long  in 
Malemort  with  Surto  about;  and  so  the  kind  M. 
Randoulet  sent  him  away  by  night  to  Avignon 
— after  giving  him  a  suit  of  new  clothes,  and 
three  silver  crowns,  and  a  letter  to  a  priest  in 
Avignon,  Canon  Jusserand,  that  was  to  make 
everything  all  right  for  him.  Things  went 
crookedly,  though,  and  the  Canon  would  not 
have  anything  to  do  with  him;  and  then,  when 
he  was  all  lonely  and  despairing,  a  soldier  of 
the  National  Guard  named  Vauclair  befriended 
him — getting  him  enrolled  as  a  soldier  in  the 
Guard,  too,  and  giving  him  houseroom  in  his 
own  home.  Vauclair's  wife,  Lazuli — a  woman 
who  was  just  as  good  as  good  bread — was  as 
kind  to  Pascalet  as  her  husband  was.  She  was 
almost  like  a  mother  to  him — though  he  was  a 
trifle  too  old  to  be  her  son — and  took  as  good 
kind  care  of  him  as  she  did  of  her  own  little 
boy,  Clairet.  And  so,  although  it  looked  at 
first  as  though  he  hadn't,  Pascalet  fell  on  his 
feet  when  he  came  to  Avignon,  after  all. 

When  I  got  that  far  in  my  story,  telling  it 
with  a  good  deal  more  detail  than  I  have  told  it 
here,  I  had  to  stop  short.  All  the  other  moni- 
tors had  finished  their  sermons,  and  suddenly  I 
saw  that  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Flechaire  was  coming 
toward  us — evidently  to  find  out  why  in  the 


prologue 


world  my  sermon  lasted  so  long.  And  if  he  had 
found  out  that  I  was  not  preaching  at  all,  but 
was  telling  a  story  that  had  for  its  hero  a  Red  of 
the  Revolution,  there  certainly  would  have  been 
a  terrible  spilling  of  fat  in  the  fire! 

Three  days  later,  when  we  took  our  next 
country  walk,  my  story  went  on  again — and  we 
all  were  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  to  it  that  it  really 
did  seem  as  though  we  were  tempted  away 
from  our  religious  duties  by  the  devil  himself. 
As  for  our  beads,  we  did  not  tell  the  half  of 
them;  and  when  it  came  to  my  sermon  I  made 
it  not  much  more  than  three  words  long.  But, 
to  speak  frankly,  aves  and  paters  were  not  a 
bit  to  my  liking  in  those  days — and  story-tell- 
ing was. 

I  made  my  hearers  shudder  finely  by  telling 
them  that  Surto  tracked  Pascalet  to  Avignon, 
and  caught  him  there,  and  shut  him  down  in  a 
vault  to  be  starved  to  death ;  and  then  cheered 
them  by  adding  that  the  Comtessine  Adeline 
opened  the  trap  door  and  got  him  out  of  the 
vault  and  helped  him  to  get  safe  away.  And 
after  that  Pascalet,  along  with  Vauclair,  left  the 
National  Guard  and  enlisted  in  the  Marseilles 
Battalion — and  away  they  went  to  Paris  to  be- 
siege King  Louis  Capet  in  his  castle  and  to  tear 
down  his  throne.  As  for  Adeline,  Surto  was  in 
such  a  rage  with  her  for  having  helped  Pascalet 
to  escape  that  he  gave  her  into  the  hands  of  a 


tOl)itc  terror 


she-dragon  named  La  Jacarasse  to  be  carried  off 
to  Paris  and  killed. 

Some  of  the  little  boys  fairly  cried  at  the 
thought  of  Adeline  being  killed,  but  I  soon  con- 
soled them  by  telling  that  Lazuli  snatched  her 
from  the  claws  of  La  Jacarasse,  and  hid  her  away 
in  safety  in  Paris  in  the  house  of  a  kind-hearted 
joiner  named  Planchot — where  Pascalet  lived 
also,  and  where  he  and  Adeline  fell  in  love  with 
each  other.  And  while  they  were  falling  in  love 
with  each  other  the  Marseilles  Battalion — Pasca- 
let fighting  in  it  bravely,  and  Planchot  helping 
too  and  killing  a  lot  of  people  with  his  joiner's 
axe — took  the  King's  castle  and  made  the  King 
a  prisoner;  and  a  little  later,  during  the  Terror, 
Surto  murdered  the  Marquis  d'Ambrun,  and  then 
he  and  the  Marquise,  Adeline's  wicked  mother, 
took  possession  of  the  fortune  that  belonged  to 
Adeline  herself. 

It  was  hard  on  Adeline  to  lose  her  fortune, 
but  presently  she  lost  something  that  she  valued 
a  great  deal  more — and  that  was  Pascalet.  One 
day  some  of  the  men  of  the  Battalion  coaxed 
him  to  go  on  a  spree  with  them ;  and  when  he 
got  over  it  and  was  sober  again  he  was  ashamed 
to  go  back  and  face  Lazuli  and  Adeline.  With- 
out telling  anybody  what  he  meant  to  do,  he 
enlisted  in  the  Army  of  the  Revolution  and  was 
sent  off  all  in  a  moment  to  the  frontier;  and  not 
until  he  was  clear  away  from  Paris  with  his  reg- 


prologue 


iment  did  Adeline  and  the  others  know  what 
had  become  of  him.  Vauclair  did  not  get  the 
news  for  a  long  while,  for  he  had  started  for  the 
South  again  with  the  Battalion — leaving  Lazuli 
and  Adeline  to  follow  him  by  the  coach. 

And  then  my  story  took  a  blood-curdling 
turn  that  made  the  boys  all  over  goose-flesh. 
Surto  and  La  Jacarasse  found  out  that  Adeline 
was  hidden  in  Planchot's  house,  and  tried  to 
steal  her  away  from  there  to  murder  her;  and 
while  they  did  not  succeed  in  their  attempt,  both 
she  and  Lazuli  fell  for  a  while  into  the  clutches 
of  a  worse  villain  still.  This  was  a  man  named 
Calisto  des  Sablees,  a  foundling  whom  the  Comte 
de  la  Vernede  had  adopted  and  brought  up  al- 
most as  his  own  son — and  who  had  rewarded 
his  benefactor  by  murdering  him  and  taking 
possession  of  his  property  and  of  his  honourable 
name.  Being  a  very  clever  scoundrel,  this 
Calisto  played  a  double  game  with  La  Jacarasse 
and  Surto:  pretending  to  help  them  to  carry  off 
Adeline  from  Planchot's  house,  but  really  man- 
aging matters  so  that  he  succeeded  in  making 
her,  along  with  Lazuli  and  little  Clairet,  take 
refuge  in  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  Bretagne  which 
had  been  his  master's  and  which  he  had  begun 
to  call  his  own. 

Calisto's  game  was  a  large  one.  He  had  se- 
cured to  himself  his  master's  property,  which 
carried  with  it  his  master's  name  and  title,  and 


terror 


so  counted  upon  being  a  great  nobleman  when 
the  troublous  times  should  have  passed  by.  But 
he  knew  that  his  position  would  be  a  great  deal 
stronger  were  he  married  to  a  lady  of  undoubted 
rank  having  also  a  fortune  of  her  own.  There- 
fore he  was  determined  to  marry  the  Comtessine 
Adeline  d'Ambrun.  That  was  why  he  sheltered 
Adeline  from  Surto.  But  while  the  Terror  lasted 
he  professed  himself  the  most  ferocious  of  sans- 
culottes, and  so  managed  both  to  run  with  the 
hare  and  to  hold  with  the  hounds.  Marat  was 
his  friend,  and  from  Marat  he  obtained  death 
warrants  against  Surto  and  La  Jacarasse,  to  be 
used  when  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  them ;  against 
the  Marquise,  that  he  might  terrify  her  into  giv- 
ing him  her  written  permission  to  marry  Adeline, 
and  later  get  rid  of  her  also;  and  even  against 
Adeline,  that  he  might  have  ready  a  threat  that 
would  compel  her  by  foul  means  to  marry  him 
in  case  fair  means  failed. 

Just  as  I  had  come  to  this  most  exciting  point 
in  my  story,  and  while  all  my  hearers  were 
crowding  close  about  me  and  listening  eagerly, 
Monsieur  1'Abbe  Flechaire  tapped  on  his  breviary 
as  a  signal  that  the  sermons  should  end.  It  was 
hard  on  all  of  us,  but  the  signal  had  to  be  obeyed. 
Had  our  little  circle  held  together,  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  certainly  would  have  guessed  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  and  would  have  come  to  hear 
what  I  was  preaching  about — and  a  pretty  kettle 


prologue  13 


of  fish  that  would  have  been !  And  so  we  scat- 
tered to  our  play. 

But  one  by  one  my  boys  came  back  to  me, 
begging  that  I  would  tell  just  a  little  more. 
They  even  offered  me  presents,  of  tops  and  mar- 
bles if  I  would  go  on.  But  I  held  out  firmly 
against  their  entreaties  and  their  bribes,  telling 
all  of  them  that  not  another  word  of  the  story 
would  they  have  from  me  until  we  took  our 
next  walk.  And  so  you  may  be  sure  that  I  had 
a  very  eager  audience  clustered  about  me  at  ser- 
mon time  on  the  day  when  that  walk  came  off. 

I  remember  very  well  that  it  was  Thursday 
in  All-Saints'  week,  and  that  the  d'ay  was  cloudy 
and  raw.  Monsieur  1'Abbe  FLechaire  had  taken 
us  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  of  Saint  Gens, 
close  to  the  Fountain  of  Vaucluse,  and  had 
halted  us  for  our  prayers  and  sermons  in  a  wood 
of  evergreen-oak  where  we  were  sheltered  from 
the  nipping  wind  by  a  deep  ravine.  All  my 
boys  were  around  me  in  an  instant,  in  a  snug 
corner  well  off  from  the  other  groups,  and  then 
away  we  dashed  into  our  prayers  and  out  of 
them  in  a  jiffy — fairly  gulping  our  paters,  and 
"scamping"  our  aves  at  the  rate  of  five,  four, 
three,  to  the  ten!  As  for  my  sermon,  I  let  it 
slip  altogether — starting  off  with  my  story  the 
moment  that  what  we  were  pleased  to  call  our 
devotions  were  at  an  end. 

But  my  congregation  that  day  included  an 


14  ®l)c  tDI)ite  terror 

unusual  and  a  dangerous  member.  This  was  a 
molly-coddle  of  a  boy  whom  we  called  "the 
Fifi " — partly  because  he  wasn't  much  bigger 
than  a  wren,  and  partly  because  he  had  a  wren's 
little  hopping  ways  and  also  a  good  deal  of  a 
wren's  pertness.  "The  Fifi"  belonged  to  my 
group  of  boys,  but  usually  in  our  walks  he  stuck 
close  to  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Flechaire — who  found 
the  little  sneak  useful  in  keeping  order  in  the 
school  because  of  his  habit  of  tale-telling,  and 
who  therefore  made  a  prime  favourite  of  him. 
Had  we  not  been  so  eager  to  get  on  with  our 
story  we  would  have  realized  the  peril  of  per- 
mitting "the  Fifi"  to  listen  to  it;  but  neither  I 
nor  the  other  fellows  ever  gave  a  thought  to  him 
— and  so  away  we  went  to  perdition  as  hard  as 
we  could  go! 

In  a  thrilling  fashion  I  told  how  Adeline  and 
Lazuli  and  little  Clairet  managed  to  escape  by 
night  from  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  Bretagne, 
and  found  shelter  once  more  under  the  wings 
of  the  good  Planchots;  and  how,  after  a  while, 
in  spite  of  Calisto  and  Surto  and  La  Jacarasse, 
they  succeeded  in  getting  safe  away  from  Paris 
— on  the  very  day  that  the  King  was  executed — 
in  the  kind  charge  of  a  good  carrier  named  Jean 
Caritous,  who  had  been  sent  by  Vauclair  to 
bring  them  back  in  his  cart  to  Avignon.  I  told 
what  a  good  fellow  this  Caritous  was,  and  ho^w 
he  was  in  love  with  a  beautiful  girl  named 


prologue  15 


Genevieve,  the  daughter  of  another  Avignon 
carrier;  and  how  he  broke  off  his  intended  mar- 
riage because  he  found  that  her  father,  old  Bas- 
tian,  had  stolen  a  cargo  of  treasure — gold  and 
silver  vessels  and  ornaments  from  the  churches 
in  Provence — that  the  Government  officers  in 
Marseilles  had  entrusted  to  him  to  carry  up  to 
the  Paris  mint.  For  Jean  Caritous  was  an  honest 
man  who  would  not  take  with  his  wife  such  a 
thieves'  dowry. 

And  then,  coming  back  to  the  main  story,  I 
told  how  Calisto  found  out  what  had  gone  with 
Adeline,  and  came  down  to  Avignon  in  search 
of  her — after  he  had  turned  over  the  Marquise 
her  mother  and  Surto  and  La  Jacarasse  to  the 
guillotine — and  how,  when  he  discovered  where 
she  was  sheltered,  he  denounced  the  good  Vau- 
clair  and  Lazuli  as  traitors  who  were  harbouring 
an  Aristocrat;  and  then,  that  plan  failing  to 
catch  her  for  him,  how  he  got  General  Jourdan 
"Chop-head"  to  order  a  search  for  Aristocrats 
to  be  made  in  every  house  in  Avignon — feeling 
sure  that  by  that  means  he  would  find  Adeline 
and  get  her  again  into  his  power. 

There  was  a  general  shudder  at  this  turn  in 
my  story,  but  my  hearers  grew  more  comfortable 
again  as  I  went  on  to  tell  how  Vauclair  and  La- 
zuli— although  they  were  driven  almost  crazy  by 
grief  at  the  thought  of  being  looked  upon  as 
traitors — still  were  too  much  for  Calisto.  I  told 


1 6  ®l)e  tDljite  terror 


how  they  dressed  Adeline  in  boy's  clothes — in 
the  very  suit  that  she  had  made  with  her  own 
hands,  and  that  good  Monsieur  Randoulet,  the 
cure  of  Malemort,  had  given  to  Pascalet — and 
so  let  her  work  for  a  while  in  that  disguise  with 
a  rope-maker  in  Avignon;  and  how,  on  the 
dreadful  night  when  the  search  for  Aristocrats 
was  made,  Jean  Caritous  hid  her  under  his  cart 
in  his  wagon-shed  and  so  kept  her  safe.  And 
then  I  told  how  she  and  Lazuli  and  little  Clairet 
escaped  from  Avignon :  how,  in  the  grey  dawn 
of  the  morning  following  that  vain  search,  Cari- 
tous hid  them  in  the  lading  of  his  cart  and  so 
got  them  out  of  the  city,  and  then  went  onward 
with  them  toward  Malemort — the  little  out-of- 
the-way  village  in  the  mountains — where  they 
knew  that  the  good  Monsieur  Randoulet  would 
care  for  them,  and  where  they  hoped  to  be  safe 
from  harm.  And  I  told  how  Vauclair,  having 
in  this  way  provided  for  the  welfare  of  his  dear 
ones,  proved  that  he  was  no  traitor,  but  a  brave 
patriot,  by  enlisting  again  in  the  Marseilles  Bat- 
talion and  going  off  once  more  to  the  wars.  In 
company  with  the  other  recruits  for  the  Battalion, 
he  also  started  for  Avignon  on  that  same  morn- 
ing; and  I  told  how  he  and  his  fellow-soldiers 
stopped  to  rest  on  the  heights  above  the  Rhone 
westward,  and  how  in  the  morning  light  he 
saw  the  cart — far  away  on  the  other  side  of  the 
city,  so  far  that  it  looked  no  bigger  than  an  ant 


Prologue 


— going  briskly  along  the  highway  and  bearing 
those  dear  ones  of  his  to  peace  and  safety. 

While  I  told  all  this  my  hearers  listened 
breathlessly.  Their  hearts  quaked  as  they  heard 
about  Adeline's  perils,  and  beat  warm  again 
when  her  safety  once  more  seemed  to  be  as- 
sured. Impatient  to  know  what  was  coming 
next,  they  pressed  close  upon  me.  All  around 
me  were  wide  open,  eager,  wondering  eyes! 

And  then,  suddenly,  I  became  aware  that 
those  searching  eyes  were  not  looking  at  me, 
but  beyond  me;  and  in  the  same  instant — as 
though  the  Gorgon's  head  were  just  over  my 
shoulder — the  eager  and  wondering  look  faded 
out  of  them  and  in  its  place  came  a  stony  look 
of  frozen  fear.  I  turned  to  see  what  direful 
cause  had  produced  this  change  so  instantaneous 
and  so  horrifying;  and,  turning,  1  also  saw  the 
Gorgon's  head  and  I  also  was  turned  to  stone. 
For  there,  among  the  oaks  behind  me,  almost 
at  my  elbow — brought  thither  softly  by  that 
despicable  sneak  of  a  "  Fifi  " — stood  in  awful 
majesty  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Flechaire! 

As  a  cat  lifts  and  carries  a  kitten — but  with 
a  snatching  roughness  of  which  no  cat  would 
be  guilty — he  grabbed  me  by  my  collar,  raised 
me  into  the  air,  and  holding  me  at  arm's  length 
(Ai!  Ai!  Ai!  but  it  was  horrible!)  carried  me 
sprawling  and  kicking  away!  All  the  school 
beheld  my  humiliating  tragedy!  All  saw  my 


i8  ®l)c  'tDljite  terror 

disgraceful  transportation  through  space — that 
ended  in  my  being  plumped  down  hard  upon 
an  isolated  rock  and  bidden  to  remain  upon  that 
bad  eminence,  kneeling,  until  it  was  time  for 
us  to  go  home!  "Stay  there  on  your  bended 
knees,  sacrilegious  little  wretch  that  you  are!" 
cried  Monsieur  1' Abbe,  speaking  not  in  Provencal 
but  in  formal  French,  so  great  was  his  indigna- 
tion. "  Stay  there  on  your  bended  knees,  and 
do  not  dare  to  utter  a  single  word! " 

And  I  stayed  there — with  the  look  of  a  rep- 
robate Little  Samuel  remonstrantly  at  prayer! 

It  was  pretty  bad,  that  punishment — that  in 
an  instant  changed  me  from  a  centre  of  flatter- 
ingly acute  interest  to  a  centre  of  ribald  ridicule 
— but  very  much  worse  was  to  come.  When 
we  had  been  marched  back  to  the  school  again 
I  was  haled  by  Monsieur  1'Abbe  before  the 
Principal,  and  in  that  dread  presence  the  sum  of 
my  evil  doing  was  revealed.  And  then  Fate 
fairly  laid  me  by  the  heels!  Solemnly  the  Princi- 
pal passed  sentence  upon  me:  I  was  to  do  five 
thousand  lines  out  of  school  hours;  I  was  to 
lose  my  position  as  game-master,  and  along 
with  it  the  use  of  my  beloved  den;  I  was  to  be 
deprived  of  my  office  of  sacristan  of  the  Brother- 
hood, and  with  that  went  (though  the  Principal 
did  not  know  it)  its  valuable  emoluments;  and, 
finally,  I  was  warned  that  if  I  told  even  one 
single  word  more  of  my  profane  story  to  a  single 


Prologue  19 


one  of  my  companions  I  would  be  expelled  from 
the  school! 

Well,  I  lived  through  it,  that  frightful  sen- 
tence— and  even  managed  to  be  fairly  cheerful 
under  it  after  the  shuddering  tremors  of  its  first 
shock  had  passed  away.  I  did  not  take  so  very 
long  to  do  my  five  thousand  lines,  for  I  used  one 
of  the  extraordinary  pen-holders  that  we  had  a 
way  of  making  out  of  reeds  tied  together — 
affairs  into  which  we  stuck  three  or  four  sepa- 
rate pens,  and  so  contrived  to  write  three  or  four 
lines  at  a  time.  And  while  I  never  quite  got 
over  the  loss  of  my  den,  I  still  was  able — what 
with  poaching  and  begging — to  have  an  onion  or 
an  apple,  or  a  handful  of  almonds  or  olives,  now 
and  then.  But  from  the  hardness  of  that  clause 
of  my  sentence  which  forbade  me  to  finish  my 
story  there  was  neither  escape  nor  easement. 
In  face  of  the  Principal's  warning,  I  dared  not 
go  on  with  it.  The  consequences  of  disobedi- 
ence were  too  terrible  for  me  to  defy  them — 
bold  though  my  young  spirit  was!  And  so  my 
companions  never  knew  the  end  of  Pascalet's 
and  Adeline's  adventures  ;  though  they  did 
know,  of  course,  that  Pascalet  had  lived  through 
them— because  I  could  tell  them  that  he  still 
was  living  in  my  own  village  of  Malemort:  an 
old,  old  man  whom  everybody  loved. 

And  now,  at  last,  here  is  the  end  of  my  his- 
tory— and  1  write  it  in  no  dread  of  punishment. 


&l)ite  terror 


for  the  worthy  Principal  has  been  for  these  ten 
years  past  dead  and  buried  (God  rest  him !) 
and  his  writ  no  longer  runs.  Just  where  I  left 
off  all  those  years  ago  I  begin  again — starting 
afresh  from  that  break  in  my  history  which  came 
when  I  looked  over  my  shoulder  and  saw  among 
the  oak  branches  the  Gorgon's  head  apparition 
of  Monsieur  I' Abbe  Flechaire! 

FELIX  GRAS. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    COMING   OF   THE    WHITE   TERROR   TO    AVIGNON 

IN  the  grey  dawn  of  morning,  the  morning 
following  upon  that  fierce  night  when  all  the  city 
was  turned  upside  down  in  the  search  for  Aris- 
tocrats, a  monster  went  raging  like  a  hungry 
wolf  through  the  streets  of  Avignon.  House 
after  house  he  entered  and  ransacked,  only  to 
emerge  from  each  in  turn  empty  handed  and 
still  more  furious.  "  I'll  have  hen  I'll  have  her! 
She  shall  be  mine!"  he  cried.  "Tell  me  where 
she  is  hidden  ?  Tell  me,  or  the  whole  city  shall 
burn!"  It  was  Calisto  des  Sablees,  mad  with 
anger  because  Adeline  had  slipped  through  the 
meshes  he  had  woven  around  her. 

But  his  search,  like  the  great  search  of  the  night 
before,  was  useless.  Adeline  was  gone,  even  Joy 
was  gone — his  own  good  old  servant  whom 
Vauclair  had  put  with  his  own  dear  ones  in  the 
way  of  safety.  And  finding  his  plans  frustrated 
and  his  hopes  broken,  Calisto's  gall  burst  and 
he  became  as  one  possessed.  Like  the  fox  who 
bites  his  spine  crushed  by  the  hunter's  bullet,  he 
dragged  out  his  hair  and  tore  himself  with  his 
nails.  He  howled  in  his  blind  rage,  he  cursed 
his  ill-luck  with  a  savage  bitterness,  with  great 
oaths  he  swore  to  avenge  himself  with  fire  and 
sword.  And  at  last,  with  his  hands  clinched 


incite   ® error 


and  grinding  his  teeth,  he  set  off  for  the  Pope's 
Palace  to  try  conclusions  with  the  man  whom 
he  believed  to  be  the  author  of  his  misfortunes: 
Jourdan  Chop-head,  the  commandant  of  Avi- 
gnon. 

Past  the  guards  he  rushed  without  a  word. 
They  dared  not  stop  him.  They  knew  the  pow- 
er that  was  behind  him — that  he  was  the  shadow 
of  Marat  the  Death.  Without  knocking,  he  burst 
in  upon  the  commandant.  Even  Jourdan.  the 
terrible  Jourdan  Chop-head,  felt  a  momentary 
shiver  of  fear  that  made  him  grasp  his  pistol  hur- 
riedly as  he  beheld  Calisto's  furious  face  and 
heard  him  cry  in  a  voice  broken  by  passion : 
"  It  is  you  who  have  hidden  her.  Tell  me  where 
she  is!" 

"Citizen,  you  do  not  know  to  whom  you 
are  speaking.  Remember  that  I  am  General 
Jourdan." 

"  I  do  know  to  whom  I  am  speaking — it  is 
to  a  friend  of  the  Aristocrats!  " 

"  And  that  is  why  they  call  me  '  Chop-head,' 
I  suppose,"  Jourdan  answered,  with  a  smile  that 
did  not  seem  to  come  easily. 

"  They  may  call  you  what  they  please.  It  is 
you  who  have  saved  the  daughter  of  the  Mar- 
quis d'Ambrun.  Tell  me,  I  say,  where  she  is  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
Jourdan  answered  coldly.  "What  I  do  know 
is  that  last  night  we  arrested  five  hundred  Aris- 
tocrats— men  and  women  and  children,  a  round 
half  thousand  of  them.  Go  and  look  if  the 
daughter  of  your  ci-devant  Marquis  is  in  the  lot. 
As  for  me,  !  do  not  care  a  fig  what  becomes  of 
her — or  of  you." 


Coming  of  llie  tCH)itc  terror  to  Qlmgnon    23 

"She  is  not  among  the  prisoners,  and  you 
know  it — you  who  have  rescued  her!  " 

"Citizen,  do  you  want  to  be  bled?  You 
are  very  near  to  it!  " 

"  And  you,  do  you  want  to  lose  your  head  ? 
It  is  shaky  on  your  shoulders  just  now!  " 

"  1  have  told  you  to  remember  that  you  are 
speaking  to  General  Jourdan." 

"  I  am  speaking  to  a  traitor!  "  Calisto  shout- 
ed. And  he  looked  Jourdan  full  in  the  eyes  as 
he  added :  "And  I  can  prove  what  I  say !  " 

The  General  paled  a  little,  but  answered  in  a 
strong  voice:  "I  arrest  you.  You  are  a  mur- 
derer and  a  robber."  As  he  spoke  he  levelled 
his  pistol  at  Calisto's  head. 

For  answer  Calisto  drew  his  own  pistol 
and  raised  it;  and  so  they  stood  for  an  instant, 
each  facing  a  black  muzzle  ready  to  spit  out 
death. 

But  it  was  only  for  an  instant  that  they  held 
their  threatening  positions.  Suddenly  the  drums 
in  the  courtyard  and  the  drums  at  the  gateway 
burst  out  together  in  a  tremendous  rattle  with 
the  generale,  and  in  the  same  moment  the  tocsin 
began  to  ring  on  all  the  Avignon  bells.  Out- 
side, in  the  stone-paved  passageways,  was  a 
buzz  of  excited  voices  and  a  great  trampling  of 
feet.  Commotion  was  everywhere.  The  whole 
Palace  was  astir. 

The  two  men  lowered  their  pistols.  "  We'll 
settle  this  matter  later,"  said  Jourdan  grimly; 
"and  I'll  catch  you  without  running  after  you, 
all  in  good  time." 

"  When  you  please,"  Calisto  answered;  and 
as  he  spoke  a  dozen  soldiers  burst  into  the  room 


24  £l)c  tDl)itc  terror 

in  a  disorderly  crowd — all  in  great  excitement 
and  all  shouting  at  once. 

"  They  are  here!  " 

' '  Twenty  thousand  of  them !  " 

"All  our  men  are  dead!" 

"  They  have  crossed  the  Durance!  " 

"  We  must  run  for  it!  " 

"Silence,  you  fools!"  cried Jourdan  sharply. 
"  Now  let  some  one  of  you  with  a  scrap  of  sense 
in  his  head  tell  me  what  all  this  is  about" 

"I  was  there!"  panted  out  breathlessly  a 
National  Guard— a  big  fellow  all  covered  with 
sweat  and  dust. 

"Oh,  you  'were  there,'  were  you?  Very 
well,  then,  speak  up — and  let  the  rest  of  you 
hold  your  tongues." 

"It  was  this  way,"  the  National  Guard  went 
on,  speaking  with  a  dry  throat  huskily  and  pant- 
ing out  his  words:  "As  you  ordered,  General, 
we  were  patrolling  our  bank  of  the  Durance,  on 
the  lookout  for  the  Federalist  army.  About 
dawn  their  vanguard  showed  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  near  Bonpas.  We  shouted  to  them 
that  they  might  stay  where  they  were — that 
Avignon  was  not  going  to  be  ordered  about  by 
Marseilles;  and  the  only  answer  they  gave  us 
was  a  volley  that  stretched  out  six  of  our  men 
under  the  willows.  We  did  the  best  we  could, 
General.  Not  counting  the  boys'  battalion,  there 
were  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  us — and  there 
must  have  been  twenty  thousand  of  them.  We 
sheltered  ourselves  behind  the  dyke  and  cracked 
away  at  them,  trying  to  keep  them  from  getting 
possession  of  the  rope-ferry — and  the  more  that 
we  shot  at  them  the  more  they  came  on,  crowd- 


Coming  of  tl)c  iDljite  terror  to  Qtaignon    25 

ing  down  to  the  water  side  like  ants  pouring 
out  of  a  hill." 

"Who  commands  them  ?"  Jourdan  inter- 
rupted. 

"  They  say,  General,  that  it  is  the  citizen 
Rebecqui." 

"Rebecqui?  my  friend  Rebecqui?  and 
where  could  he  have  got  together  such  an  army 
as  you  say  this  is  ?  " 

''I  don't  know,  General.  All  I  know  is 
what  I  heard.  They  say  that  all  sorts  of  people 
are  in  it.  They  say  that  the  whole  of  the  Mar- 
seilles Battalion  is  there — the  Battalion  that  went 
up  to  Paris  last  year." 

"That's  a  lie,"  Jourdan  struck  in.  "The 
Marseilles  Battalion  was  disbanded  long  ago, 
and  it  cannot  have  been  reorganised  because 
almost  every  man  who  was  in  it  has  joined  the 
Republican  army  and  is  fighting  foreigners  on 
the  frontier." 

"  Well,  maybe  you're  right,  General.  This 
crowd  don't  look  like  good  Reds — the  sort  those 
Marseilles  boys  were.  We  could  see  priests 
among  them,  and  some  of  our  men  said  they 
recognised  nobles  they  knew  along  with  the 
priests.  They  have  the  look  of  a  crowd  got 
together  to  undo  all  the  good  work  of  our  beau- 
tiful Revolution — a  lot  of  priests  and  nobles  and 
deserters  and  stuff  like  that.  Well,  anyhow, 
there  they  were  over  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  and  for  all  our  shouting  they  kept  coming 
on — pouring  down  to  the  river  bank  like  a 
swarm  of  ants,  just  as  1  have  said,  and  going 
straight  for  the  ferry-boat  in  spite  of  our  fire. 
And  then  one  of  our  men  did  a  good  thing — and  it 


26  ®l)e  tOljite  terror 

was  n't  a  man  either,  it  was  a  boy  :  little  Viala, 
only  twelve  years  old,  his  little  hide  still  full  of 
his  mother's 'milk  as  you  might  say.  Well,  that 
little  chap,  seeing  the  enemy  getting  hold  of  the 
boat,  jumped  up  from  where  we  lay  under  cover 
and  made  a  dash  into  the  open  to  the  post  where 
the  cable  of  the  ferry  was  made  fast.  Out  came 
his  sword — it  was  longer  than  he  was — and  he 
went  to  chopping  at  the  rope  with  both  hands. 
In  an  instant  there  was  a  storm  of  bullets  upon 
him.  We  could  hear  them  cutting  through  the 
leaves  above  us  with  a  patter-patter  like  the  nuts 
falling  from  a  shaken  almond  tree.  And  then, 
all  of  a  sudden,  we  saw  his  hands  go  up  in  the 
air,  and  saw  him  spinning  around  like  a  top. 
'They've  hit  me,'  he  cried,  'but  I'm  dying 
for  liberty ! '  and  down  he  fell  in  a  heap  on  the 
stones  of  the  Durance. 

"That  shamed  us,  and  we  broke  cover  and 
ran  down  to  him  to  bring  him  in.  But  he  was 
dead  before  we  got  to  him,  that  glorious  boy — 
lying  there  with  his  heart's  blood  glowing  in  the 
sunshine.  And  we  saw  that  there  was  nothing 
left  for  the  rest  of  us  but  to  run  for  it — seeing  that 
there  were  not  enough  of  us  to  stand  off  such  a 
crowd.  So  back  we  came  to  tell  you  what  has 
happened.  But  we  brought  little  Viala  along 
with  us.  We  bedded  him  on  laurels  and  so 
fetched  him  home — that  young  glory  of  Avignon 
who  died  that  the  Republic  and  the  Revolution 
may  live  !  " 

"  Order  my  horse  !  "  cried  Jourdan. 

"It's  useless  for  you  to  go,  General,"  said 
the  soldier.  "  You  can't  stop  them.  There  are 
thousands  and  thousands  of  them.  Don't  go!  " 


Coming  of  tlje  tOtjite  terror  to  &mgnon    27 

Jourdan  was  very  pale  and  his  hands  were 
shaking.  "  Order  my  horse  !  "  he  cried  again, 
and  as  he  spoke  he  began  to  snatch  up  from  the 
table  his  pistols  and  papers  and  everything  that 
he  could  lay  hands  on. 

"  I  tell  you  it's  no  use,  General,"  repeated 
the  soldier.  "It's  death  for  you  to  go.  It's 
certain  death — it's  just  the  same  as  jumping  into 
the  Rhone." 

But  Jourdan,  still  calling  for  his  horse,  dashed 
out  of  the  room  and  down  into  the  courtyard. 
In  five  minutes  he  was  mounted  and  ready  to 
get  away.  The  gendarmes  and  National  Guards 
pressed  around  him,  trembling  with  eagerness 
to  be  led  against  the  enemy — more  than  ready 
to  die,  if  by  dying  they  could  check  the  Fed- 
eralist advance.  Without  a  word  to  them  he 
spurred  his  horse  and  galloped  off.  But  it  was 
not  toward  the  advancing  Federalists  that  Jour- 
dan galloped  !  No,  his  back  was  turned  to  the 
enemy,  and  away  he  went  as  fast  as  his  horse 
could  carry  him — across  fields  and  through  by- 
ways— to  Sorgues.  Late  that  night  he  reached 
a  friendly  farm-house  ;  and  there  he  staid,  hid- 
den in  a  hayloft,  through  all  the  time  that  the 
White  Terror  reigned  in  Avignon. 

For  it  was  the  White  Terror  that  began  that 
day.  Overpowered  completely,  Avignon  fell 
into  the  possession  of  that  strange  army  which 
set  forth  from  Marseilles  a  small  body  of  orderly 
Reds — whose  purpose  was  to  march  to  Paris  to 
avenge  the  death  of  the  Marseilles  deputy,  Bar- 
baroux,  executed  with  the  Girondists,  and  to 
bring  the  Convention  once  more  into  line  with 
Republican  doctrines — and  which  became  before 


28  ®|)c  tOljite  terror 

it  reached  Avignon  a  turbulent  horde  of  Whites, 
bent  upon  destroying  the  Republic  and  upon 
restoring  the  tyrant  to  his  throne.  In  that  short 
march  the  Federalist  force  commanded  by  Re- 
becqui  was  completely  swamped  by  the  sudden 
gathering  around  it  of  a  far  greater  body  of  anti- 
patriots  :  dogs  of  nobles,  deserters,  malcontents, 
and  camp-followers  who  cared  only  for  plunder 
and  for  blood.  It  was  the  most  curious  of  all 
the  sudden,  irrational,  impossible,  transforma- 
tions which  took  place  even  in  those  times  of 
accomplished  irrational  impossibilities  in  France. 

The  White  Terror  reigned  when  that  cut- 
throat horde  had  Avignon  in  its  grasp.  In  the 
White  quarter — in  the  Rue  du  Limas,  about  the 
Porte  du  Rhone,  in  the  Rue  Fustarie — the  anti- 
patriot  sneaks  came  swarming  together  as  they 
realized  the  change  that  was  upon  them  ;  every 
man  with  his  knife  hidden  but  ready,  and  all 
eager  for  their  work  to  begin.  Presently  it  did 
begin,  and  Avignon  was  in  the  murderers'  hands. 
Rebecqui  and  his  men,  the  honest  Federals,  were 
powerless  to  maintain  order.  Patriots  were  in 
flight.  Ruffians  were  kniving  the  people.  The 
scum  of  nobility  was  on  top  again.  The  men 
of  the  Revolution  were  under  heel! 

The  Federalists  left  Marseilles  shouting  "Vive 
la  patrie !  Vive  la  Republique !  -"  and  they  entered 
Avignon  shouting  "Vive  1'etranger  !  Vive  le 
roi!"  Oh  the  pity  of  it !  Oh  the  shame!  No 
wonder  that  Rebecqui,  the  brave  Federalist  com- 
mander— broken-hearted  and  despairing  because 
he  could  not  hold  in  check  this  legion  of  devils 
— flung  himself  into  the  Rhone! 


CHAPTER   II 

.  ADELINE'S  PERIL 

UNDISMAYED  by  the  danger  from  which  Jour- 
dan  Chophead  frankly  had  run  away,  Calistokept 
his  wits  about  him.  He  knew  that  the  coming 
of  the  Whites  meant  a  quick  flight  or  a  quick 
turning  of  coats  for  all  the  Reds  who  wanted  to 
keep  their  heads  on  their  shoulders  ;  and,  as  he 
was  far  too  clever  to  turn  his  coat  prematurely, 
it  was  obvious  that  he  must  be  off  from  Avignon 
without  delay.  But  even  in  his  hurry  he  stopped 
to  make  sure  of  the  safety  of  what  so  far  had  been 
his  winnings  in  the  big  game. 

Having  seen  to  it  that  a  horse  would  be  in 
waiting  for  him  at  the  post-house,  he  went  on 
quickly  to  the  house  in  the  Rue  du  Limas  of  the 
Canon  Jusserand — the  priest  to  whom  this  bas- 
tard, who  claimed  the  Comte  de  la  Vernede  as 
his  father,  in  reality  owed  his  existence;  and  he 
was  not  surprised,  being  arrived  there,  to  find 
that  that  wide-awake  prelate  already  had  doffed 
his  red  cap  and  had  resumed  his  breviary.  And 
then,  together,  this  worthy  couple  carefully  hid 
away  the  papers  and  the  valuables  of  the  Comte 
de  la  Vernede,  and  along  with  them  the  treasure 
that  Calisto  had  stolen  from  the  family  of  the 
Marquis  d'Ambrun — the  whole  making  a  very 
pretty  provision  against  a  rainy  day ! 

29 


30  £lje  tDl)ite  terror 

Grass  was  not  growing  under  their  feet  while 
they  attended  to  this  matter;  and  the  moment 
that  it  was  finished  Calisto  was  off.  Mounted 
on  his  horse,  away  he  galloped  from  Avignon — 
going  out  by  the  gate  of  Saint  Lazare,  and  along 
the  very  same  white  road  over  which  Jean  Cari- 
tous  in  the  dawn  of  that  same  morning  had  car- 
ried Adeline  and  Lazuli  and  old  Joy  in  his  cart. 
But  among  the  many  evil  powers  with  which 
the  master  of  all  evil  had  dowered  him,  Calisto 
did  not  possess  the  witches'  power  of  divination. 
Unconscious  that  only  a  few  leagues  separated 
him  from  those  whom  he  so  longed  to  snare,  he 
galloped  sharply  along  the  road;  and  when  he 
came  to  where  it  branched,  at  Le  Pontet,  he 
bore  to  the  left,  for  Paris,  and  followed  no  farther 
the  innocents  on  their  safe  way  to  Malemort. 

Yet  as  he  galloped  on,  away  from  them,  he 
was  in  truth  pursuing  them.  In  his  mind  al- 
ready was  formed  a  fresh  scheme  for  their  cap- 
ture. Before  the  Convention,  in  Paris,  he  would 
denouncejourdan  Chop-head  as  a  coward  and  a 
traitor;  he  would  sound  such  an  alarm  in  the 
Convention  that  presently  the  whole  South 
would  be  ravaged  with  fire  and  sword  in  beat- 
ing down  the  White  anti-patriots;  and  in  that 
time  of  battling  and  of  wild  commotion  would 
come  his  opportunity — for  then,  surely,  every 
secret  hiding-place  would  be  discovered,  and 
somewhere  or  another  Adeline  certainly  would 
be  found ! 

Meanwhile,  safely  out  of  reach  of  this  devil 
who  was  ready  to  fire  a  whole  country-side  in 
order  to  catch  them,  the  little  company  in  the 
cart  of  Jean  Caritous  gladly  journeyed  onward. 


QibeUne's  Peril  31 

In  spite  of  all  that  they  had  gone  through  during 
the  dreadful  night  just  passed,  and  in  spite  of 
the  dangers  which  at  any  moment  might  be 
upon  them,  Lazuli  and  Adeline  and  old  Joy  and 
little  Clairet  were  very  happy  as  they  sat  to- 
gether under  the  cart-tilt.  They  laughed  and 
chattered  as  though  dangers  had  no  existence; 
so  joyful  were  they  because  they  were  free  again, 
and  were  journeying  in  the  gay  July  sunshine 
to  where  they  would  be. 

"  Oh,  how  enchanting!  "  cried  Adeline,  clap- 
ping her  hands.  "I  shall  see  my  village  of 
Malemort  and  my  Chateau  de  la  Garde!" 

"Gently,  gently,  darling,"  said  Lazuli. 
"Going  to"  the  Chateau  may  not  be  safe  for  us. 
We  may  have  to  keep  in  hiding  even  in  Male- 
mort." 

"  But  cannot  we  go  to  see  La  Patine — Pas- 
calet's  mother  ?" 

"That  we  will  know  when  we  see 
Monsieur  Randoulet.  We  must  do  what  the 
good  priest  tells  us  to  do.  He  is  prudent,  and 
he  will  know  what  is  best." 

"  If  I  never  am  to  see  my  own  mother 
again,"  Adeline  went  on,  "I  would  like  to  take 
Pascalet's  mother  to  live  with  me.  And  then, 
when  Pascalet  comes  home  again —  She 
stopped  suddenly.  They  all  were  looking  at 
her,  smiling,  and  on  the  face  of  Caritous  was  a 
broad  grin. 

"You  talk  about  your  Pascalet,"  said  Cari- 
tous with  a  laugh,  as  his  desire  for  teasing  got 
the  better  of  him.  "  You  talk  about  your  Pas- 
calet, but  I'll  be  bound  that  last  night — when 
you  were  curled  up  in  the  tray  under  the  cart, 


32  ®I)e  tDIjite  terror 

while  the  sans-culottes  were  close  beside  you — 
your  teeth  were  just  chattering  with  fear  and 
you  never  once  thought  about  him.  Eh,  my 
pretty,  isn't  that  so  ?  " 

"Indeed  it  isn't,"  Adeline  answered  ear- 
nestly. "  It  isn't  so  at  all,"  and  as  she  spoke 
she  looked  straight  into  Jean's  eyes. 

"  Come,  come  now.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  were  thinking  about  Pascalet  even  while 
the  gendarmes  were  there  right  beside  the 
cart?" 

"  I  am  always  thinking  about  him — and 
most  of  all  when  I  am  in  danger." 

"Well,  if  that's  so,  you  certainly  had  a 
right  to  think  about  him  last  night,  for  if  ever 
you  were  in  danger  in  your  life  you  were  in 
danger  then.  Let  me  tell  you  just  what  hap- 
pened, Lazuli.  So  far  you've  only  heard  about 
it  in  scraps  and  by  fits  and  starts.  Now  here's 
the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end: 

"  You  see,  it  had  got  along  to  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  I'd  pretty  much  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  our  house  wouldn't  be 
searched  at  all.  I  had  tucked  Adeline  away  in  the 
tray  under  the  cart,  hiding  her  well  under  a  lot 
of  horse-blankets,  and  had  left  the  little  dog 
watching  beside  her.  My  mother  had  taken  her 
lamp  and  gone  off  to  bed,  and  I'd  just  lighted 
my  lantern  and  was  going  off  myself  to  sleep  in 
the  hayloft.  And  just  then — bang!  bang!  bang! 
— came  three  thumping  knocks  at  our  door. 

"I  went  to  the  door  in  a  hurry — for  the 
quicker  I  was  the  less  it  would  look  as  if  I  had 
something  to  hide — and  when  1  had  unbarred 
and  opened  it  I  found  four  big  red-faced  gen- 


&bdine1s  peril  33 

darmes  standing  outside.  All  four  of  them  had 
their  skins  full  of  wine.  Their  legs  went  all 
crooked,  and  so  did  their  talk.  In  they  stag- 
gered, almost  tumbling  over  each  other,  and 
struck  across  the  courtyard  to  the  shed  where 
the  cart  was.  There  they  pulled  up,  right  be- 
side it,  and  the  least  drunken  of  the  lot  said: 
'Listen  to  me,  Jean  Caritous!'  and  there  he 
stopped  short. 

"  '  What  do  you  want  with  me?'  I  asked, 
and  began  to  move  on,  for  I  was  dreadfully 
anxious  to  get  them  away  from  near  the  cart. 

"  ;  Listen  to  me  here, 'said  the  fellow,  'we 
needn't  go  any  farther  for  what  I  have  to  say.' 

"  'I  don't  know  what  you  have  to  say,'  I 
answered,  '  but,  whatever  it  is,  come  along  and 
say  it  in  the  house.' 

"'Don't  want  no  house,'  he  mumbled. 
'  Want  to  stay  right  here.'  Then  he  caught  me 
by  the  shoulder  and  leaned  back  against  the 
cart  to  steady  himself,  and  went  on :  '  See  here, 
Jean — we're  good  friends,  ain't  we  ?  ' 

"'Yes,  of  course  we  are,'  says  I.  'But 
what's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  What  do  you 
want  with  me,  anyway?' 

"  '  Want  to  know  somethin'  right  here,'  says 
he.  '  Now  just  you  say  out  whether  you  want 
to  give  her  up  or  not  ? ' 

"  '  But  I  haven't  got  anybody  to  give  up,' 
says  I,  and  I  was  so  flabbergasted  that  if  any  of 
'em  had  been  sober  my  looks  would  have  given 
the  whole  thing  away. 

"  'That's  all  right,'  says  he.  '  But  we  know 
all  about  it,  an'  we  mean  to  do  the  right  thing 
by  you.  If  you  want  to  give  her  up,  just  say 


34 


so,  and  that's  th'  end  of  it.  But  if  you  don't, 
you've  only  to  say  so  and  we'll  fix  it  for  you. 
We'll  get  our  claws  on  her  —  you  not  bein'  sup- 
posed to  know  nothin'  about  "it—  and  fetch  her 
along.  And  then  the  other  fellow  may  go 
scratch  himself  !  ' 

"  He  gave  me  a  drunken  wink  as  he  spoke, 
and  they  all  of  them  looked  at  me  with  drunken 
grins.  As  for  me,  I  couldn't  make  head  or  tail 
of  this  queer  talk. 

"  '  But  I  haven't  anybody  to  give  up,  I  tell 
you,'  says  I.  'You  may  hunt  the  house  from 
garret  to  cellar  and  you  won't  find  a  soul  in  it  — 
only  my  old  mother,  who's  asleep  in  bed.' 

"'No,  no—  no  huntin'  here,'  says  he. 
'You're  all  right,  Jean.  You're  good  patriot, 
you  are.  No  huntin'  here.  But  you've  got 
good  wine  about  the  place,  and  you've  got  a 
good  deal  more  than  four  crowns.  But  some 
wine  and  four  crowns  —  and  that's  only  one  apiece 
for  us  —  will  do  it,  Jean.  That's  all  we  ask.  So 
don't  you  waste  time  making  a  pious  fraud  of 
yourself,  but  just  say  the  word.' 

"  '  Say  what  word  ?  '  says  I,  and  I  really  was 
at  my  wits'  end  to  know  what  they  were  driv- 
ing at. 

'•'Oh,  come  off!'  says  he.  'You  know 
what  the  word  is,  and  you  know  where  the  girl 
is  —  and  so  do  we.  We'll  catch  her  for  you  — 
here's  the  rag  to  keep  her  mouth  shut  and  the 
rope  to  keep  her  still  —  and  after  that  the  other 
fellow  can  hunt  for  her  till  he's  tired!  ' 

"  '  What  other  fellow  ?'  says  I.  And  if  ever 
a  man  was  puzzled  1  was  then.  They  might  as 
well  have  been  talking  Greek. 


Sideline's  JJeril  35 

"Suddenly  the  drunkest  one  of  the  lot 
lurched  himself  up  in  front  of  me.  He  was  so 
drunk  that  he  swayed  about  like  the  top  of  a 
cypress  when  the  mistral  is  blowing.  '  Y'  know 
all  'bout  it,'  says  he.  '  Y  '  know  jushashwell 
ash  we  do! '  And  with  that  he  gave  a  sudden 
heavy  lurch,  tried  to  steady  himself  and  didn't, 
and  then  with  a  long  stagger  down  he  went 
right  under  the  cart.  As  he  fell  he  fairly  got  his 
hand  on  the  hay  where  Adeline  was  hidden — 
an  inch  farther  and  he'd  have  touched  her  with 
his  hand!  And  he  might  have  found  her,  any- 
how, if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  little  dog.  The 
dog  went  for  him  like  a  little  devil — and  it  only 
looked  as  if  I  was  trying  to  keep  him  from  being 
bitten  when  I  jerked  him  by  his  legs  and  so  got 
him  safe  away.  And  just  wasn't  I  in  a  state  of 
mind!  I  believed  that  I  was  in  for  a  fight  with 
them,  and  without  saying  anything  1  got  my 
hands  on  the  cross-bar  of  the  cart. 

"  And  then  the  least  drunk  one,  the  one  who 
had  been  doing  the  talking,  let  in  some  daylight. 
'  See  here,  Jean,'  says  he,  'you  know  as  well  as 
we  do  that  Tiston,  Cazat's  son,  is  after  Genevieve 
and  means  to  marry  her  before  Saint  Magdalen's 
day.  Are  you  the  man  to  let  him  do  that  ? 
Just  speak  up  and  we'll  fix  him  for  you — and  fix 
her  too !  Give  us  a  drink  and  four  crowns — only 
a  crown  apiece,  Jean — and  we'll  fetch  her  right 
here  now.  We  can  do  it  easy  on  a  night  like 
this.  And  when  we've  fetched  her  here  the 
game's  in  your  hands!  ' 

"  Then,  at  last,  I  did  understand — and  as  that 
rotten  hound  spoke  Genevieve's  name  I  seemed 
to  feel  the  sweat  break  out  upon  me,  and  my 


36  ®lje  tOI)ite 


heart  stood  still.  Why,  for  a  minute,  I  felt  so 
weak  that  little  Clairet,there,might  have  knocked 
me  down!  But  I  remembered  that  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  save  Adeline,  and  with 
that  I  pulled  myself  together  and  took  up  the 
talking  again. 

"  '  Well/  says  I,  '  come  along  and  have  the 
drink,  anyway.  This  isn't  a  thing  to  settle  off- 
hand. We'll  talk  about  it  while  we're  warming 
our  insides.' 

"They  were  ready  enough  for  that,  you  may 
be  sure;  and  so  I  led'them  across  the  courtyard 
and  into  the  kitchen,  and  then  1  got  out  a  bottle 
of  Cartagena  brandy  strong  enough  to  eat  the 
lining  out  of  a  copper  pot!  '  We're  all  friends,' 
says  I,  filling  a  cup  of  the  stuff  for  each  of  them 
—  and  before  I  could  make  a  show  of  filling  a 
cup  for  myself  they'd  taken  it  off.  It  began  to 
get  in  its  work  on  them  almost  the  minute  it 
was  down!  'We're  all  friends,'  says  I,  filling 
up  for  them  again  ;  and  as  they  guzzled  I  went 
on  :  '  And  we're  all  good  patriots  —  friends  of  the 
Revolution  and  haters  of  the  Tyrant.  Well,  now, 
among  friends,  among  patriots,  one  can  speak 
out  one's  mind  freely,  eh  ?' 

'  '  '  Cershingly  one  can,  '  said  the  least  drunken 
fellow  —  which  wasn't  saying  much,  for  the  Car- 
tagena had  made  them  all  pretty  near  blind. 

"  'Then  I  will  speak  my  mind,'  says  I,  'and 
here  it  is:  You  are  the  four  dirtiest  hounds  that 
God  ever  made  —  and  as  to  your  offer,  I  spit  it 
back  into  your  four  faces  at  once  !  ' 

"  '  Didn't  I  tellyousho  ?  '  said  the  talking  one. 
'  Didn't  I  tell  you  hish  noshuns  wash  too  nish 
for  our  game?'  and  he  fell  to  blubbering.  As 


feline's  fJcril  37 

for  the  others,  they  were  too  far  gone  to  know 
what  it  all  was  about. 

"  '  Too  nice! '  says  I,  with  a  bang  of  my  fist 
on  the  table.  '  Yes,  I  am  too  nice!  And  as  for 
you  four,  you  are  blackguards  from  the  word 
go — it  would  serve  you  right  if  the  Tyrant  were 
back  on  his  throne  again  and  you  were  back 
where  you  were  before  the  Revolution  came 
and  had  to  beg  your  bread  from  door  to  door! ' 

"  At  that  the  talking  one  fell  to  weeping  as  if 
his  heart  would  break,  and  said  between  his 
sobs:  'He's  right— Jean  Caritoush  ish  right! 
We're  badsh  we  can  be!  Itsh  too  bad  we're 
sho  bad! '  and  then  he  put  down  his  head  and 
sobbed. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  want  the  show  to  go  on  all 
night;  and  so,  as  I  was  sure  that  there  was 
nothing  more  to  fear  from  the  fellows,  I  gave 
them  another  drink  all  round  and  then  bundled 
them  out  of  doors.  It  was  like  rolling  logs  to 
move  them.  They  went  down  like  nine-pins  as 
they  struck  the  night  air!  But  I  can  tell  you 
that  I  drew  a  long  breath  when  at  last  I  had 
them  fairly  out  into  the  street  again,  and  the 
door  barred  behind  them — with  Adeline  still 
safe  under  the  cart,  and  my  dear  old  mother  still 
safe  in  her  bed  upstairs!  " 


CHAPTER  III 

SOME   RAGGED   REGIMENTS 

As  Caritous  told  his  story  his  auditors  by 
turns  shivered  and  laughed  over  it,  and  it  was 
punctuated  by  their  exclamations  in  its  more 
thrilling  parts.  When  it  was  finished,  Lazuli 
and  old  Joy  flung  themselves  upon  Adeline  and 
hugged  her  and  kissed  her  with  all  their  might. 

"My  own  dear  one."  cried  Lazuli,  "how 
awful  it  would  have  been  had  that  drunken 
wretch  found  you  when  he  tumbled  down !  " 

"What  did  the  gendarmes  want  with  you, 
Adeline?"  asked  Clairet,  his  eyes  as  big  as 
saucers. 

"  Can  such  things  be!  "  exclaimed  Joy,  clasp- 
ing her  thin  old  hands. 

"  But,  really,  1  wasn't  very  much  frightened, 
you  know,"  said  Adeline,  trying  to  reassure 
them.  "Just  hearing  Jean's  voice  all  the  time 
was  a  comfort  to  me;  and  then  I  felt  sure,  some- 
how, that  he  and  Vauclair  never  would  let  them 
carry  me  off." 

"Had  you  eaten  up  all  the  jam,  Adeline  ?" 
asked  the  puzzled  Clairet.  "  Was  that  why  the 
gendarmes  wanted  to  carry  you  off?" 

"And  I  was  thinking'  too.  as  I  have  told 
you,  about  my  Pascalet  who  would  come  from 
the  ends  of  the  earth  to  save  me.  No,  I  was  not 

38 


Some  ftaggefc  Hegiments  39 

badly  frightened — and,  anyhow,  what  is  past  is 
past,  so  don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it.  I 
am  only  full  of  happiness  now — here  with  you 
who  are  so  dear  to  me  and  out  among  the  lovely 
fields  of  the  good  God. 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  good  to  be  in  the  country 
again,"  Adeline  went  on.  "  Look  at  that  har- 
vester over  there.  See  how  his  sickle  glitters 
in  the  sunshine,  and  look  at  his  binder  following 
him,  with  her  big  straw  hat  to  keep  off  the  sun. 
How  happy  she  must  be!  See  how  she  hugs 
up  the  sheaf  as  though  she  were  lifting  her  baby 
for  a  kiss.  See  how  her  brown  hands  twist  the 
straw  rope  around  it,  and  how  she  lays  the  sheaf 
on  the  stubble  and  ties  it  while  she  steadies  it 
with  her  knee.  Yes,  they  must  be  very  happy, 
those  poor  peasants.  Nobody  envies  them — 
except  me!  Ah,  how  happy  I  would  be  were  I 
that  woman,  and  were  Pascalet  that  man!  " 

"Good  Heaven!"  cried  old  Joy  in  horror. 
"Whatever  can  you  be  thinking  about,  Made- 
moiselle la  Comtessine,  to  say  such  things!  " 

"Joy,  never  call  me  Mademoiselle  la  Com- 
tessine again.  Calisto  called  me  that,  and  1  hate 
to  hear  it.  It  makes  me  think  of  him." 

Joy  crossed  herself  as  if  a  thunder-storm  had 
broken  over  them.  "Don't  say  his  wicked 
name,  Mademoiselle.  Hearing  it  makes  me  feel 
as  if  in  another  minute  he'd  be  jumping  up  from 
behind  that  hedge.  And,  listen!  Just  speaking 
it  has  brought  ill  luck.  They  are  ringing  the 
tocsin  in  Avignon!" 

Very  faintly  they  could  hear  the  alarm  that 
was  sounded  on  the  far-away  bells.  Down  the 
wind  it  came  to  them,  a  low  clear  whisper  of 


40  Stye  tt)l)ite  terror 

distant  sound.  Presently,  with  the  tinkling 
whisper  came  the  sharper  sound  of  musketry 
and  the  boom  of  cannon. 

"What  on  earth  can  it  be,  Jean?"  asked 
Adeline. 

"God  only  knows,"  Jean  answered. 

"But  here  are  some  fellows  who  are  likely 
soon  to  have  a  hand  in  it,  whatever  it  is." 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  around  a  bend  of 
the  road  ahead  of  them,  under  a  cloud  of  dust,  a 
hundred  or  more  National  Guards.  They  were 
well  armed,  all  with  guns  and  swords,  and 
were  swinging  along  rapidly  toward  Avignon. 
As  they  neared  the  cart  Jean  hailed  them : 
"  Hello,  comrades!  where  are  you  bound  ?  " 

"  Vive  la  Montagne!  "  shouted  the  marching 
men. 

"  Oh,  it's  that  way,  is  it  ?  So  you  are  going 
to  join  the  Federalist  army  ?  " 

"Down  with  the  Aristocrats!  Down  with 
the  Federalists!"  shouted  the  whole  company. 

"  But  if  you  are  neither  Aristocrats  nor  Fed- 
eralists, what  are  you — and  where  do  you  come 
from  ?  "  Jean  asked. 

"We  are  the  patriots  of  Vedenes,''  a  ser- 
geant answered.  "We  are  hurrying  to  the  res- 
cue of  the  Avignon  Montagnards.  Vive  la  Mon- 
tagne! Vive  la  Convention !"  And  in  another 
moment  the  whole  company  had  passed. 

But  while  the  cloud  of  dust  they  raised  still 
showed  down  the  road,  another  cloud  of  dust 
came  in  sight  up  the  road;  and  before  long  Jean 
and  the  others  could  make  out  another  body  of 
men  coming  toward  them — which  proved  to  be, 
as  it  drew  nearer,  a  force  of  four  or  five  hundred : 


Some  ftaggeb  ftegimcnts  41 

with  mounted  officers,  beating  drums,  some 
pieces  of  cannon — a  regular  little  army.  These 
men  also  were  marching  rapidly.  Presently 
they  were  passing  the  cart. 

"Hello,  there,  comrades!  Where  are  you 
going  at  such  a  pace  ?"  Jean  called  out. 

' '  Vive  la  Plaine !  Vive  les  Federalistes !  Down 
with  the  Convention !  "  they  cried,  as  they  swept 
onward. 

"Then  you're  off  to  join  the  Federalists,  are 
you  ?"  Jean  asked. 

"We're  off  to  make  the  Avignon  Monta- 
gnards  behave  themselves!"  one  of  the  men 
answered  grimly.  And  away  went  the  col- 
umn, with  cries  of  "Hurrah  for  the  Comtat!" 
"  Hurrah  for  Carpentras  !  "  "  Hurrah  for  the 
Pope!" 

"If  those  fellows  catch  up  with  the  other 
fellows,"  said  Jean,  "  there'll  be  trouble.  They 
don't  seem  to  have  the  same  ideas! " 

And  then  they  saw  still  a  third  company 
coming  toward  them — a  little  poor  company  of 
not  more  than  thirty  men,  but  few  of  whom 
were  armed.  But  small  though  this  company 
was,  there  were  two  parties  in  it — one  from 
the  village  of  Bausset,  and  one  from  the  hamlet 
of  La  Roque-sur-Pernes.  Chance  had  brought 
them  together  on  the  road  to  Avignon,  and 
without  asking  questions  they  had  joined  forces. 
Poor  starved  peasants  they  were,  the  whole  of 
them.  A  few  of  them  had  guns.  Most  of  them 
had  only  pitchforks.  But  every  man  Jack  of 
them,  intent  upon  pilfering,  carried  a  bag. 

"And  what  party  do  you  hold  with,  com- 
rades ?  "  Jean  called  out  as  he  came  abreast  of 


42  £l)e  tOljite  terror 

them — and  much  to  his  astonishment  he  got 
two  very  different  replies. 

"  Vive  la  Plaine!  "  cried  the  wolf-hunters  of 
La  Bausset. 

"  Vive  la  Montagne!  "  cried  the  bean-eaters 
of  La  Roque-sur-Pernes. 

More  astonished  than  Jean  were  the  men  by 
whom  these  clashing  war-cries  were  uttered. 
The  poor  devils  really  had  been  thinking  more 
of  plunder  than  of  politics,  and  it  had  not  oc- 
curred to  either  party  to  sound  the  other  as  to 
its  political  faith.  But  being  thus  apprised  that, 
however  friendly  they  might  be  as  robbers,  as 
patriots  they  were  enemies,  they  suddenly  drew 
apart  from  each  other  and  began  an  angry  war 
of  words — and  in  another  minute  or  two  had 
passed  on  to  blows.  With  their  fists  and  their 
feet  and  their  sticks  they  went  at  each  other. 
But,  luckily,  they  were  too  poor  for  powder,  and 
the  few  who  had  guns  could  use  them  only  as 
clubs. 

The  cart  had  passed  on,  the  travellers  stand- 
ing up  in  it  and  looking  back  at  this  sudden 
strange  conflict.  Caritous  put  what  they  all 
were  feeling  into  words.  "  It  twists  one's 
heart,"  he  said,  "to  see  those  poor  starving 
devils  going  on  like  that." 

"  We  ought  to  go  back  and  separate  them," 
cried  Adeline.  "Just  see  how  they  are  pound- 
ing each  other! " 

"  Yes,"  Jean  answered,  "they  are  pounding 
hard — but  if  we  tried  to  stop  them  they'd  pound 
us  harder,"  and  he  cracked  his  whip  over  the 
backs  of  the  horses  that  they  might  hurry  away 
from  the  pitiful  sight. 


Some  ftaggcb  fUgimcnts  43 

"But  see  here,"  put  in  Lazuli,  "we  cant 
leave  them  trying  to  kill  each  other.  It  isn't 
Christian." 

"I  tell  you,"  Caritous  replied,  "that  we 
can't  stop  them !  Whoever  tried  to  would  get 
a  whack  on  his  head.  They're  just  senseless 
wild  beasts  in  a  hungry  rage." 

"Caritous!  my  dear  Caritous!"  Adeline 
said  earnestly,  clasping  her  hands  in  entreaty. 
"Stop  the  horses!  Stop  the  horses  for  just  a 
moment  and  let  me  go  back  to  them.  You'll 
see  that  I'll  make  the  poor  things  listen  to  reason 
and  behave  themselves." 

Jean's  good  heart  was  not  less  moved  than 
the  women's  hearts  were  by  this  sad  senseless 
fighting.  His  wits  were  working  to  find  some 
way  of  stopping  it,  and  at  Adeline's  appeal  his 
resolution  was  formed, 

"I  think  that  I  can  stop  them,"  he  said, 
drawing  the  rein  and  bringing  the  horses  to  a 
halt.  "  But  if  I  do  it  you'll  all  have  to  go  hun- 
gry until  we  get  to  Malemort. " 

At  that  the  three  women  cried  out  that  they 
were  willing  to  go  hungry  that  day  and  the  next 
day  too  if  only  he  would  bring  the  fight  to  an 
end.  Clairet  alone  protested — and  Adeline 
silenced  his  protests  with  a  big  apple  that  kind 
mother  Caritous  had  slipped  into  her  pocket 
when  she  was  coming  away. 

"Very  well,"  said  Caritous.  "Now  you 
will  see  what  you  will  see,"  and  he  opened  the 
locker  of  the  cart  and  took  out  from  it  three 
great  loaves  of  home-made  bread  covered  with 
a  mouth-watering  crust.  With  the  loaves  under 
his  arm,  off  he  went  down  the  road. 

4 


44  ®t)e  tDliite  terror 

By  this  time  the  fight  had  become  serious. 
A  half  dozen  of  the  hungry  weak  creatures  had 
been  knocked  into  the  ditch,  and>  most  of  the 
others  were  losing  their  thin  blood  from  their 
broken  heads.  But  all  of  them  who  could  stand 
were  at  it  still. 

As  Jean  drew  near  them  he  began  to  slice 
off  big  chunks  of  bread  which  he  threw  into  the 
thick  of  the  crowd.  "  What  are  you  fighting 
about,  any  way  ?"  he  called  out.  "Aren't  we 
all  brothers  in  these  days  ?  You  are  just  making 
asses  of  yourselves  fighting  like  that  among 
yourselves,  instead  of  all  going  together  to  fight 
against  the  tyrants!  " 

While  he  spoke,  the  fight  ended.  As  the 
poor  devils  saw  the  chunks  of  bread  falling 
among  them  they  let  go  of  each  other  and 
eagerly  snatched  '  at  the  food — for  their  teeth 
were  long  with  hunger,  and  many  a  day  had 
passed  since  a  chance  to  eat  bread  had  come  to 
them.  For  most  of  them  the  chance  to  eat  such 
bread  as  that  was  never  had  come  at  all! 

Jean  stepped  backward  toward  the  cart 
slowly,  cutting  more  chunks  of  bread  and  scat- 
tering them  along  the  road.  After  him  trailed 
the  whole  starving  company.  As  each  man 
seized  his  piece  he  sat  down  by  the  roadside  to 
eat  it.  By  the  time  that  Jean  got  back  to  the  cart 
they  all  were  seated  in  a  straggling  double  line, 
friends  and  enemies  together,  their  fight  forgot- 
ten in  their  joy  that  they  had  found  food. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A   STORY    OF    TWO   COWARDS 

As  the  cart  went  on  again  through  the  hot 
sunshine  the  cigales  were  rasping  out  their  pierc- 
ing buzz  from  every  tree.  The  day  was  ad- 
vancing, and  Malemort  still  was  far  off,  hidden 
in  the  flanks  of  Mont  Ventour.  Yet  close  above 
them,  as  it  seemed,  towered  the  great  mountain. 
They  could  see  the  black  lines  of  its  fearfully 
deep  ravines  and  the  great  black  masses  of  its 
forests,  and  high  over  all  its  bare  summit  capped 
with  clouds. 

On  they  went,  crossing  the  green  streams  of 
the  Sorgues  and  the  marsh  lands  of  Entraigues. 
Ahead  of  them  they  caught  glimpses  of  the  bell- 
towers  of  Monteux;  and  far  beyond  Monteux, 
looming  up  like  a  great  stone  heap,  was  the 
Papal  city  of  Carpentras — where,  unlike  all  other 
cities  in  Christendom,  there  were  no  bell-towers 
at  all! 

While  they  were  crossing  that  level  country 
they  fell  in  with  another  little  army:  a  company 
of  three  hundred  or  more,  all  well  armed  with 
guns  and  swords. 

"We  needn't  ask  where  those  mincing- 
looking  fellows,  with  their  stealthy  side-looks, 
are  going,"  Jean  said  as  he  cracked  his  whip 
angrily. 

45 


46  ®lje  iX)l)ile  terror 

"  Who  are  they,  Jean  ?  "  asked  Lazuli. 

"And  what  are  they  wearing  on  their 
breasts  ?  "  added  Adeline.  "  It  looks  like  a  red 
field-poppy." 

"They  are  the  Whites  of  Monteux,"  Jean 
answered.  "  And  if  you'll  look  closer  you'll 
see  that  what  they're  wearing  is  a  red  fleur- 
de-lys." 

"So  it  is!"  exclaimed  Lazuli.  "And,  see, 
they  all  of  them  have  a  holy  image  stuck  in 
their  hats." 

"That's  their  great  sa:/nt,  Saint  Gens.  For 
the  Monteux  folks  he's  about  the  only  saint  in 
Paradise.  In  fact,  -according  to  their  notions,  he 
takes  the  lead  of  the  good  God !  They  never 
dream  of  praying  to  anybody  but  Saint  Gens 
the  Ploughman.  He's  good  enough  for  them, 
they  say!  And  now  listen  to  what  they'll 
answer  when  I  ask  them  where  they're  off  to." 
And  Jean  called  out:  "Hello,  comrades!  Where 
are  you  bound  ?  To  help  the  Montagnards  in 
Avignon  ?  " 

"Hurrah  for  Saint  Gens!  Hurrah  for  the 
Pope!  Down  with  the  Montagnards!  Hurrah 
for  Saint  Gens!"  the  Monteux  men  roared  in 
chorus,  and  roared  in  so  droll  a  way  that  Jean 
fairly  burst  out  laughing.  But  this  was  unlucky, 
for  his  laughter  went  down  the  wrong  way  with 
the  roarers,  and  they  angrily  clustered  around 
the  cart — shaking  their  fists  at  Jean  while  they 
roared  still  louder  for  their  great  Saint  Gens.  In 
a  moment  one  of  them  had  clambered  up  on  the 
shafts,  and  with  his  bare  sword  at  Jean's  breast 
cried  out  in  a  sputtering  rage:  "You  Avignon 
thief!  Just  you  cry  'Hurrah  for  Saint  Gens!' 


Stern  of  ®too  QTottwr&s  47 


and  be  quick  about  it — or  I'll  run  my  sword 
into  you  and  make  you  spew  out  your  dirty 
soul!  " 

But  Jean  Caritous  was  not  the  man  to  take 
orders  from  anybody,  least  of  all  from  a  parcel 
of  miserable  Aristocrats!  He  had  his  hand  on 
his  club  in  an  instant;  and  in  another  instant 
there  would  have  been  some  very  lively  fighting, 
had  not  old  Joy — who  knew  the  canticles  of  all 
the  saints  and  saintesses  in  Paradise — suddenly 
been  moved  to  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel  by  pip- 
ing up  in  her  thin  old  voice: 

"  Honour  to  Saint  Gens  we  bring — 
Let  us  all  together  sing 
That  pure  song  to  his  glory 
Which  artlessly  pleads 
The  magnificent  story 
Of  all  his  good  deeds  !  " 

"Bravo!  Bravo!"  cried  all  the  Holy-wafer- 
eaters  of  Monteux  together;  and  the  angriest  of 
the  lot — the  one  who  had  his  sword  at  Jean's 
breast — fairly  was  melted  to  tears.  Back  went 
his  sword  into  its  scabbard,  and  in  another  in- 
stant he  was  hugging  old  Joy  in  thanks  for  her 
canticle  about  his  beloved  great  Saint  Gens. 
And  so  the  danger  passed,  and  the  cart  went 
safely  onward.  For  a  long  while  those  in  it 
could  hear  behind  them  the  Monteux  men 
singing 

"  A  1'ounour  de  Sant  Gent 
Canten  toutis  ensen 
Aquen  pious  cantico 
Que  conto  sans  facoun 
L'istori  magnifico 
De  si  santis  acioun!  " 


48  ®lK  tOljite  (lerror 

"Well!"  said  Jean,  "did  you  ever  see  a 
man  in  such  a  temper  about  nothing  as  that 
fellow  was!  " 

"I  never  saw  a  man  nearer  to  having  a 
sword  run  through  him,  my  dear  Jean,"  Lazuli 
answered,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  a  little. 

"Nonsense,  Lazuli!  You  don't  suppose  I'd 
have  let  him,  do  you  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  stopped  that  one,  but  you 
couldn't  have  stopped  them  all.  If  Joy  hadn't 
blessedly  taken  to  singing,  you'd  have  been 
dead  by  this  time,  Jean!  " 

"  Nonsense!  "  said  Jean  again.  And  added: 
"It's  plain  you  don't  know  anything  about  the 
Monteux  folks,  Lazuli.  Talk  about  the  cowards 
of  Avignon!  All  I've  got  to  say  is,  when  you 
want  to  get  hold  of  a  real  coward  you've  got  to 
go  to  Carpentras  or  Monteux." 

"But  even  cowards  are  dangerous  when 
there  are  three  hundred  of  them  against  one 
man,"  Lazuli  insisted. 

"No,  they're  not,"  Jean  answered — "at 
least,  not  when  they're  that  kind  of  cowards. 
I  tell  you  that  if  I'd  shown  fight,  and  given  one 
or  two  of  them  a  taste  of  my  stick,  off  they'd 
all  have  scampered — like  the  hares  they  are  ! 
You  don't  believe  me,  Lazuli — I  can  see  that  in 
your  looks.  Now  I'll  just  tell  you  a  story  that'll 
prove  what  I  say  is  true.  Here  we  are  now 
coming  into  Carpentras,  and  I  couldn't  have  a 
better  place  to  tell  it — because  it  is  something 
that  I  saw  when  I  came  here  two  years  ago 
with  Jourdan  Chop-head's  army  to  lay  siege  to 
Carpentras  in  form.  But  I  must  say,"  Jean 
added,  "that  one  of  our  Avignon  men  don't 


3,  Gtorn  of  (Etoo  Coraarbs  49 

show  up  very  well  in  my  story.  In  fact,  there 
was  a  pair  of  cowards  that  day." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  that  one  of  them  was  from 
Avignon,"  said  Lazuli.  "  But  go  on  with  your 
story,  Jean."  And  as  the  cart  entered  Carpentras 
by  the  Monteux  gate  Jean  began: 

"  It  was  this  way,  you  see.  Our  army  was 
camped  on  the  stony  hill  that  we  crossed  less 
than  half  a  league  back,  and  we  were  waiting 
to  be  ordered  to  the  assault;  and  we  were  to 
make  the  assault  on'this  very  gate  that  we  have 
just  come  through.  But  General  Jourdan  didn't 
want  to  make  it  until  he  knew  a  little  more: 
and  so  he  called  for  a  volunteer  who  would  take 
his  life  in  his  hands  as  a  spy  and  find  out  if  the 
enemy  had  cannon  posted  at  that  gate,  and  also 
if  they  had  made  any  extra  preparations  against 
an  attack  on  that  side.  Well,  he  hadn't  one 
volunteer,  but  a  hundred;  and  among  them  all 
he  chose  a  little  silk-weaver  named  Agricola, 
who  went  by  the  nickname  of  '  Shuttle-Griccy ' 
— a  little  chap  from  the  Rue  du  Crucifix  who 
could  outtalk  and  outbrag  any  six  men  in  our 
whole  army.  He  set  up  to  be  a  great  wrestler, 
among  other  things,  and  according  to  his  own 
account  he'd  had  bouts  with  all  the  stevedores 
on  the  Avignon  quays  and  had  thrown  every 
one  of  them !  What  Shuttle-Griccy  had  to  say 
about  himself  never  was  small! 

"  Well,  early  in  the  morning  this  little  chap 
— he  wasn't  much  taller  than  a  well-grown  cab- 
bage— buckled  on  his  sword,  and  loaded  him- 
self with  his  gun,  and  two  braces  of  pistols,  and 
with  his  red  sash  dangling  away  he  went;  and 
all  of  us  who  could  find  room  in  them  climbed 


50  ®I)c  tOljite  terror 

up  into  trees  to  watch  him  and  see  how  he  got 
along.  He  started  out  all  right — getting  down 
into  a  deep  ditch  that  ran  in  a  straight  line  from 
the  Monteux  gate  right  down  through  our  camp, 
and  away  he  went  along  the  bottom  of  it  with 
his  gun  and  his  pistols  and  his  sword.  The 
ditch  was  dry — dug  to  mark  the  line  between 
two  estates — and  about  halfway  between  us  and 
the  town  there  was  a  break  in  it,  left  to  make  a 
crossing-place  for  carts.  Shuttle-Griccy  would 
have  to  mount  this  break,  and  then  go  down 
into  the  ditch  again ;  and,  of  course,  until  he 
was  over  it  he  couldn't  see  anything  on  the  other 
side. 

"Now  as  luck  would  have  it — and  luck  does 
some  queer  things  now  and  then! — the  Carpen- 
tras  folks  had  the  same  notion  that  we  had; 
and,  at  the  very  moment  that  we  started  our 
man  to  spy  on  them,  they  started  one  of  their 
men  to  spy  on  us.  And  he  took  to  the  ditch 
too!  So  there  the  two  of  them  were — each  of 
them  creeping  toward  the  other,  and  neither  of 
them  having  the  least  notion  in  the  world  that 
the  other  fellow  was  anywheres  around! 

"From  where  we  were,  up  in  the  trees,  we 
could  see  the  whole  thing.  Lord,  but  it  was 
funny  to  watch  them  getting  nearer  and  nearer 
that  way — with  the  certainty  that  when  they  did 
meet  they  were  bound  to  go  off  with  a  bang! 
'  Well,  it  won't  be  our  Avignon  Shuttle-Griccy 
who'll  turn  tail!'  our  men  kept  saying;  but  as 
for  me  I  kept  my  mouth  shut — for  I  couldn't 
help  thinking  to  "myself  that  our  silk- weaver 
would  be  more  likely  to  have  real  grit  if  he  had 
a  shorter  tongue.  And  yet,  while  we  could  not 


Slort}  of  ®tt)0  (JTouwrbs  51 


help  laughing,  we  were  worried  about  our  man 
too — tor  he  was  too  far  away  for  us  to  warn  him 
or  help  him,  and  when  the  shooting  time  came 
there  was  a  big  chance  that  he  might  get  killed. 
But  we  just  had  to  let  him  take  care  of  himself — 
while  we  sat  there  watching  with  all  our  eyes. 

"  At  last,  just  as  if  they'd  settled  it  all  before- 
hand, the  two  men  got  to  the  opposite  sides  of 
the  break  in  the  ditch  at  the  same  moment. 
We  lost  sight  of  the  other  man  then ;  but  we 
knew  he  was  crawling  up  his  side  of  the  bank 
just  as  our  man  was  crawling  up  our  side,  and 
we  knew  that  in  another  minute  they'd  have 
their  noses  pointing  straight  at  each  other  across 
the  cart  track — not  six  feet  apart!  Our  hearts 
got  right  up  into  our  mouths,  I  can  tell  you! 
There  would  be  shooting,  that  was  dead  sure; 
and  even  if  our  man  killed  the  other  man  the 
chances  were  that  our  man  would  be  killed  too 
— and  Shuttle-Griccy,  for  all  his  big  talking,  was 
too  good  a  little  fellow  to  be  done  to  death  like 
that.  And  then  the  meeting  came!  At  the 
very  instant  Shuttle-Griccy  got  his  head  above 
the  top  of  the  bank  we  saw  the  other  man's 
head  come  up — and  the  next  instant  Shuttle- 
Griccy  rolled  over  backward  and  came  tumbling 
down  into  the  ditch  again,  and  the  head  of  the 
other  fellow  went  out  of  sight  on  his  side! 

"We  all  gave  a  yell  together  at  that,  being 
clear  taken  aback  and  lost  in  surprise!  Could 
they  have  killed  each  other  ?  we  wondered.  If 
they  had,  how  had  they  done  it  ? — for  neither  of 
them  had  fired,  and  we  had  seen  no  flash  of  a 
sword.  For  about  ten  seconds  we  were  the 
most  puzzled  lot  of  men  you  ever  saw! 


52  ®|K  to  bite  terror 

"Well,  it  wasn't  long  before  we  found  that 
our  man  wasn't  dead,  anyway.  Shuttle-Griccy 
hadn't  much  more  than  got  to  the  bottom  of  the 
ditch,  all  in  a  bundle,  than  he  had  his  legs  un- 
tangled and  was  up  on  them,  and  was  coming 
back  toward  our  camp  on  a  dead  run — and  then 
we  saw  the  other  fellow  going  it  for  all  he  was 
worth  the  other  way,  along  the  ditch  back  to 
the  town! 

"But  the  best  of  the  whole  joke  was  that 
while  they  were  running  away  from  each  other 
that  way,  with  a  solid  wall  of  earth  between 
them,  they  took  to  banging  off  their  guns 
and  pistols  backwards — the  ditch  was  full  of 
smoke  where  they  ran,  and  we  could  see  the 
dust  flying  from  the  bank  between  them  where 
it  was  struck  by  the  balls !  In  all  the  days  of  my 
life  I  never  shall  laugh  as  I  laughed  then! 

"  They  never  stopped  running,  those  two, 
until  they  were  safe  home.  We  saw  the  other 
fellow  rush  in  through  the  city  gate,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  Shuttle-Griccy  came  bolting  into  our 
camp  and  yelled  out,  as  well  as  he  could  yell 
anything  with  his  wind  all  gone:  'To  arms! 
To  arms!  The  enemy  is  on  us!  There  are  ten 
thousand  of  them  running  down  that  ditch  to 
attack  our  camp!'  And  then,  all  of  a  sudden, 
as  he  found  everybody  roaring  out  laughing,  he 
caught  on  to  the  fact  that  he  had  made  an  ass  of 
himself,  and  before  the  whole  army  had  proved 
himself  to  be  a  coward! 

"  Well,  I'm  bound  to  confess  that  we  made 
things  so  hot  for  Shuttle-Griccy  that  he  died  of 
it.  He  got  such  a  roasting  about  his  fight  with 
the  ten  thousand  that  his  head  went  down  and 


3,  Stort]  of  &u)o  (Coioarbs  53 

he  never  held  it  up  again.  All  his  brag  was 
knocked  clean  out  of  him.  He  fell  into  a  low 
way  and  got  thin  and  miserable.  After  a  while 
he  fairly  took  to  his  bed — and  I'll  be  shot  if  the 
poor  little  humbug  wasn't  dead  inside  of  a 


"Poor  Shuttle-Griccy!"  exclaimed  Adeline. 
"  It  was  cruel  to  be  so  hard  on  him !  " 

"But  who  in  the  world  ever  would  have 
thought,"  said  Jean,  ','that  serving  a  man  out  as 
he  deserved  to  be  served  out  would  have  killed 
him  ?  I'm  sorry,  of  course;  but  I  don't  see  that 
we  were  to  blame." 

"You  might  have  known,"  said  Lazuli, 
"that  in  one  way  what  he  did  was  not  his 
fault.  Courage  is  a  gift  from  God — and  if  you 
haven't  it,  you  haven't  it.  The  poor  man 
couldn't  help  being  a  coward." 

"That's  true  enough,"  Jean  answered. 
"But  being  a  coward,  and  knowing  it,  what 
business  had  he  to  be  always  bragging  about  his 
being  a  brave  man  ?  " 

"No  matter  how  much  he  bragged,  you  had 
no  right  to  drive  him  to  his  death-bed." 

"Oh,  if  we'd  known  that  our  fun  would 
make  him  turn  up  his  toes,  we'd  have  let  up  on 
him,  of  course.  But  we're  a  wicked  lot  in  this 
world,  Lazuli.  What  most  of  us  enjoy  most  is 
other  people's  worries  and  pains!  " 

And  being  delivered  of  this  moral  sentiment, 
Jean  Caritous  gave  a  conclusive  crack  with  his 
whip  and  the  cart  came  out  from  Carpentras 
and  was  off  on  the  old  Malemort  road. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   ARRIVAL    AT   MALEMORT 

As  they  went  onward,  Adeline  was  thrilled 
with  delight  at  every  turn  by  the  sight  of  famil- 
iar things.  The  trees,  the  farms,  the  hills,  the 
mountains,  all  were  dear  to  her  because  they 
were  a  part  of  the  land  where  she  was  born. 

"See,"  she  cried,  "there's  the  farm  of  La  Lego. 
My  foster-mother  lived  there,  dear  kind  Rouseto 
— God  rest  her  soul!  And  there's  the  hill  of 
Pie-Marin.  Many  a  time  I've  been  to  the  very 
top  of  it.  I  used  to  go  up  there  with  my  foster- 
brother  to  gather  broom-flowers.  And  over 
there,  on  that  slope,  under  that  pine  tree,  is  the 
cave  of  the  Fourteen  Robbers.  Ah,  how  good 
it  is  to  see  all  these  home  places  again! " 

Lazuli  was  comforted  by  Adeline's  happi- 
ness, and  just  then  she  needed  comforting — for 
sharp  pricks  of  longing  were  hurting  her  sore 
heart.  Only  a  few  hours  had  passed  since 
her  Vauclair  had  left  her,  but  already  she  felt 
as  if  months  had  wasted  since  he  had  gone 
away.  But  Lazuli  was  no  weakling;  and  there 
was  other  comfort  for  her,  too.  When  the  pain 
of  her  longing  grew  very  sharp  she  would  take 
her  Clairet  in  her  arms  and  hug  him  close  to  her 
breast  as  she  kissed  him.  And  she  would  say 
to  herself:  "My  Vauclair  is  right — and  I  am 

54 


Qlrritwl  at  Xftalemorl  55 


wrong  to  want  him  back  again.  He  has  gone 
to  his  duty,  and  I  am  glad  that  he  has  gone. 
Country  and  Liberty  are  first  of  all  !  "  And  then 
the  flash  of  her  eyes  would  dry  the  rising  tears. 

Presently  they  rounded  a  turn  of  the  road, 
and  Adeline  flung  herself  on  Lazuli's  breast  quite 
wild  with  joy. 

"  Lazuli!'  Lazuli!"  she  cried.  "At  last  we 
are  almost  home!  When  we  are  at  the  top  of 
this  very  next  hill  we  shall  see  Malemort,  and 
the  height  on  which  /stands  the  Chateau  de  la 
Garde  !  "  And  then,  as  she  caught  Clairet  in  her 
arms,  she  added:  "You  shall  go  with  me  to  the 
Chateau,  Clairet,  and  you  shall"  have  every  pear 
in  the  garden.  Think  of  that  —  you  shall  have 
every  single  pear!  And  as  for  you,  Joy,"  she 
went  on,  with  her  arms  about  the  old  woman's 
neck,  "you've  worked  long  enough,  and  you 
never  shall  work  any  more  !  You  shall  stay  with 
me  always  and  I  will  take  care  of  you."  Had  she 
dared  to,  Adeline  even  would  have  hugged 
Jean  Caritous  —  so  full  was  she  of  gladness  be- 
cause once  more  she  was  among  her  own  peo- 
ple and  close  to  her  own  home. 

Old  Joy  clasped  her  hands  and  laughed  and 
cried  at  the  same  time;  while  Clairet  capered  in 
the  cart  and  shouted:  "Yes,  yes,  all  the  pears 
are  for  me,  and  all  the  apricots,  and  all  the 
cherries  too!  "  But  Lazuli  only  smiled  tenderly, 
for  in  her  heart  were  many  sad  thoughts. 

"Poor  child!"  she  said  to  herself.  "You 
are  happy  now,  but  you  will  be  weeping  bitter- 
ly, presently,  when  we  must  part!  But  in  spite 
of  your  tears  I  must  leave  you.  One  of  us  can 
lie  hidden  here,  but  not  two.  For  your  own 


56  ®l)e  &)l)ite  terror 

safety  I  must  leave  you  before  Calisto  is  on  our 
tracks  again.  He  wants  your  life  and  very  likely 
mine  too — for  we  know  his  crime,  and  he  feels 
he  is  not  safe  while  we  live.  He  and  Surto  and 
La  Jacarasse  may  come  here  together  to  rob  the 
Chateau — just  as  they  robbed  the  house  in  the 
Rue  des  Douze  Fortes.  But  whether  they  come 
or  not,  it  is  certain  that  they  have  vow'ed  our 
death."  But  Lazuli  was  not  to  be  cast  down 
by  dread  of  danger,  and  soon  her  thoughts  took 
a  more  hopeful  turn.  "  After  all,"  she  went  on 
in  her  mind,  "these  bad  times  must  pass  away. 
Our  brave  soldiers  will  drive  off  the  Germans 
and  the  Austrians  and  all  the  outsiders  who  are 
fighting  against  us,  and  then  our  country  will 
be  set  in  order  again — with  the  rascals  who  are 
ruling  us  sent  to  keep  company  with  the  tyrants 
who  ruled  us  before  the  rascals  came.  And 
then  reason  will  be  reason,  and  justice  will  be 
justice,  and  our  land  will  have  peace." 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  were  in  Lazu- 
li's  mind  as  the  cart  mounted  the  long  hill  slow- 
ly. Very  slowly  they  went,  the  horses  dripping 
with  sweat  under  the  blazing  sun.  From  the 
almond  trees  and  the  olive  trees  beside  the  road 
the  cigales  were  rasping  out  their  loud  shrill 
song.  The  radiant  hot  air  was  all  a-quiver  and 
a-tremble  over  the  distant  plains — where  "the 
old  woman  was  dancing"  with  a  vengeance  as 
she  shook  out  mirage  after  mirage.  At" last  they 
came  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  Adeline  cried 
eagerly:  "I  see  it!  I  see  it!  There  is  the  bell- 
tower  of  Malemort,  and  I  begin  to  see  the  hill 
of  La  Garde!  " 

On  the  hill-crest  Jean  stopped  his  horses  to 


®l)e  Qlrruml  at  illalcmort  57 

breathe  them,  and  from  there  the  view  was 
clear.  Below,  in  the  hollow  between  seven 
green  hills,  the  travellers  saw  the  pretty  little 
town.  There,  surrounded  by  her  white  walls 
pierced  with  three  gates,  Malemort  sat  like  a 
white  wag-tail  on  a  tuft  of  grass.  They  were 
silent,  and  their  eyes  filled  with  te//s,  as  they 
gazed  on  this  safe  refuge— where  could  be  only 
quiet  and  deep  peace.  Far  away  from  great 
cities  and  travelled  roads,  it  lay  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain,  lost  in,  the  midst  of  untrodden 
valleys  and  lonely  woods.  Surely,  the  noise 
and  tumult  and  horror  of  the  Revolution  never 
could  come  to  disturb  the  easy-going  life  of  that 
still  little  town ! 

Caritous  cracked  his  whip  and  they  went 
onward,  and  almost  before  they  knew  it  were 
down  the  hill  and  through  the  gate  and  at  a  halt 
beside  the  fountain — where  Caritous,  as  though 
he  had  come  to  a  relay  house,  cracked  his  whip 
again.  Over  the  fountain  towered  a  Liberty 
Tree. 

It  was  harvest  time  and  few  people  were  in 
the  town — only  very  little  children  and  the  old 
men  and  women  who  were  care-takers  of  the 
hous'es  while, the  others  worked  in  the  fields. 
At  the  crack  of  Jean's  whip,  and  at  the  sound 
of  bells  and  wheels,  a  few  shutters  opened  and 
a  few  heads  were  thrust  out  for  a  moment;  but 
after  a  sour  glance  or  two  at  the  travellers  stand- 
ing in  the  blazing  sunshine  the  old  heads  went 
in  again  and  the  shutters  were  closed.  It  was 
comforting  to  know  that  no  one  had  recognised 
Adeline  in  her  boy's  clothes;  but  it  was  not 
comforting  to  stand  there  pierced  by  the  cruel 


58  ®l)e  tDljite  terror 

sun-darts,  with  no  other  sound  than  the  gurgle 
of  the  fountain  as  the  water  flowed  into  its  big 
stone  shell.  They  felt  as  though  they  were  out- 
casts in  a  desert  land. 

Jean  went  on  with  the  cart  to  the  little  inn. 
As  he  started,  Lazuli  took  Adeline's  hand  and 
said  briskly:  "  Now,  child,  lead  us  to  the  house 
of  Monsieur  Randoulet" — and  off  they  started 
up  the  crooked  street  toward  the  church.  Pres- 
ently they  reached  it,  and  Adeline  pointed  to 
the  "Curacy  door:  with  the  feeling  that  she 
was  pointing  to  the  home  where  goodness 
and  charity  abode,  for  at  that  door,  in  the  dark- 
ness of  night,  and  in  the  darkness  of  fear,  Pas- 
calet  had  knocked  and  had  found  shelter  and 
safety. 

Lazuli  knocked  and  felt  her  heart  sink  within 
her — as  Pascalet's  heart  had  sunk — when  no 
answer  came.  There  was  no  sound  of  stirring 
within.  The  shutters  remained  tight  closed. 
The  thought  came  to  her  that  Monsieur  Randou- 
let had  fled — as  so  many  cures  were  fleeing  in 
those  days — yet,  surely,  there  could  be  no  dan- 
ger for  so  good  a  man !  And  then,  suddenly, 
her  heart  gave  a  bound  as  she  heard  the  creak- 
ing of  a  sash  above — and  she  and  Adeline  looked 
upward  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  good  cure 
smiling  down  on  them. 

But  what  they  saw  was  a  big  coarse  red 
face,  with  a  red  nose  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  a 
red  cap  stuck  awry  on  a  tangled  shock  of  hair 
that  matched  a  shock  of  tangled  beard.  And 
then  a  drunken  voice  asked:  "Who's  there? 
What  do  you  want  ?" 

"We   want    Monsieur   Randoulet,"    Lazuli 


at  IHalcmort  59 


answered;  and,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  spoke  in 
a  trembling  voice. 

"Citizen  Randoulet  don't  live  here  any 
more,"  the  red-nosed  man  answered. 

"  I  mean  Monsieur  Randoulet,  the  good  cure 
of  Malemort,"  Lazuli  said,  trying  hard  to  steady 
her  voice  and  speak  clearly. 

"There's  no  cure  here  any  more,  I  tell  you," 
the  man  grumbled  out.  And  then  he  shut  the 
window  with  a  bang. 

Bewildered  and  dismayed,  the  three  women 
looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  without 
speaking.  Then  Adeline  began  to  sob. 

"Well,  now,"  said  old  Joy.  "This  is  a 
pretty  fix,  isn't  it!  What  are  we  going  to  do? 
Must  we  go  back  to  Avignon  ?" 

"Don't  talk  about  going  back  to  Avignon," 
Lazuli  answered.  "That  isn't  to  be  thought  of 
at  all.  But  we  mustn't  take  to  worrying. 
We've  been  in  worse  holes  before,  and  got  out 
of  'em,  just  as  we'll  get  out  of  this  one.  Won't 
we,  Adeline  dear?"  And  as  she  clasped  Ade- 
line's hand  she  added:  "Now  we'll  go  to  the 
inn  and  see  what  Caritous  has  to  say  about  it. 
And  then  we'll  get  something  to  eat,  and  that 
will  put  strength  in  us.  All  will  be  right.  Don't 
you  fear!  " 

"Why  can't  we  go  to  the  Chateau?"  Joy 
asked.  "We'd  have  a  roof  over  our  heads 
there,  at  any  rate  —  and  the  farmers  surely 
would  take  care  of  us  if  they  knew  who  we 
were." 

"I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't,  Joy,"  Adeline 
said  sadly.  "Don't  you  know  who  that  man 
at  the  window  was?" 


60 


"I?  How  should  I?  I  don't  know  any- 
body here." 

"Well,  I  know  him.  That  man  was  our 
own  farmer  up  at  the  Chateau.  For  a  moment 
I  forgot  that  1  wasn't  myself  any  longer — and  I 
was  just  going  to  speak  to  him  when  he  shut 
the  window." 

"Heaven  keep  you,  child,  from  letting  any- 
body know  who  you  are ! "  cried  Lazuli,  in  alarm. 
"You  can  trust  nobody  in  these  days.  It  is 
hard,  very  hard,  to  have  things  turning  out  in 
this  way.  We  thought  we  had  reached  para- 
dise, and  yet  here  we  are  almost  at  the  mouth 
of  hell."  And  then,  sadly,  they  walked  on  to 
the  inn. 

It  was  a  very  little  inn,  standing  near  the 
fountain  in  the  quartier  des  Bugades — as  unlike 
as  could  be  to  the  great  inns,  thronged  every 
night  with  travellers,  on  the  Marseilles  and  Paris 
road.  In  that  tiny  town,  on  a  road  leading  no- 
where, it  was  a  wonder  if  as  much  as  one  trav- 
eller came  in  a  week  ;  and  in  the  bad  season  of 
the  year  often  a  whole  month  would  pass  with- 
out any  travellers  coming  at  all.  But  they  were 
good  souls  who  kept  it,  Aimable  and  his  wife 
Melio — simple  folk,  as  mountain  dwellers  are  apt 
to  be,  but  as  good  and  as  kind  as  the  Apostles 
themselves. 

The  little  party  entered  the  kitchen,  where 
the  tight-drawn  curtains  made  a  cool  darkness. 
Coming  from  the  strong  sunlight,  they  did  not 
at  first  see  that  the  host  was  sleeping  there. 
Not  until  their  eyes  were  accustomed  to  the 
shadow  did  they  make  him  out:  a  big  fat  man, 
with  his  head  down  on  the  table,  taking  a  com- 


£rritml  at  ittolctnott 


fortable  snooze  through  the  heat  of  the  day. 
Kind-hearted  people  sleep  like  saints.  Aimable 
did  not  waken  when  they  entered.  Just  as 
Lazuli  was  about  to  rouse  him  they  heard  Jean 
talking  to  some  one  outside;  and  in  another 
minute  he  and  Melio,  the  hostess,  came  in  to- 
gether. 

"Well,  here  we  are,  Jean,"  said  Lazuli. 
"Aren't  you  surprised  to  see  us  so  soon  again  ?  " 

"No,  I'm  not.  Monsieur  Randoulet  isn't 
living  in  the  curacy  a'.iy  more,"  Jean  answered. 

"  If  you  knew  that,  why  in  the  world  didn't 
you  tell  us  ?"  Lazuli  asked  a  little  sharply. 

"There!  there!  Gently  now!"  struck  in 
the  innkeeper's  wife.  "  I've  only  just  told  him. 
He's  not  to  blame."  She  spoke  pleasantly,  this 
good  Melio  :  a  fine  bounce  of  a  woman,  who 
really  ran  the  inn  —  while  her  husband  snored  on 
the  fable,  or  joined  his  guests  in  a  game  of  cards. 

"Do  you  know  what  has  become  of  him  ?" 
Lazuli  asked.  "  Why  he  had  to  go  away  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  presently,'  Melio 
answered.  "The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  give 
you  some  food."  As  she  spoke,  she  drew  back 
the  red  and  white  checked  curtains  and  let  some 
light  into  the  room. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  I  can't  do  very  well  by  you," 
she  went  on,  "for  the  hearth's  stone  cola.  Who 
ever  would  expect  any  body  to  come  at  this 
time  of  day!  But  there's  plenty  of  good  fresh 
bread,  and  there's  honey  from  the  comb,  and 
there  are  the  nice  little  spicy  cheeses  they  bring 
down  from  the  mountain.  You  won't  starve, 
anyway.  There's  enough,  such  as  it  is  —  and 
my  man,  here,  will  draw  you  some  wine." 


62 


She  bustled  over  to  her  husband  and  began 
to  shake  him.  "  Aimable,  you  sleepy-head, 
wake  up!"  she  cried.  "Here  are  some  good 
people  come  from  ever  so  far  who  want  some- 
thing to  eat  and  drink  in  a  hurry!  Wake  up,  I 
say." 

The  innkeeper  grunted,  yawned,  stretched 
himself,  half  rose  —  and  then  'down  he  flopped 
again  on  the  table  with  his  head  on  the  other 
arm. 

Melio  gave  him  a  harder  shaking.  "Was 
there  ever  such  a  man  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Wake  up,  I  say.  Here  are  travellers  come, 
and  you've  got  to  draw  some  wine  for  them. 
Rouse  up  and  hurry,  you  lazy-boots!  If  you 
keep  on  this  way,  there'll  be  time  to  kill  a 
donkey  with  fisticuffs  before  they're  served. 
Get  awake!  get  awake!" 

Slowly  the  sleepy-head  arose,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  making  sleepy  excuses  for  himself  ; 
and  then  picked  up  the  jug  and  slowly  went  off 
with  it  to  the  cellar.  When  he  had  left  the 
room  Melio  laid  a  finger  on  her  lips  and  said  in 
a  low  voice:  "  Not  a  word  before  my  man  as  to 
what  you  have  come  here  for.  Talk  of  anything 
you  please,  so  long  as  you  don't  talk  of  Monsieur 
le  Cure.  As  soon  as  you  have  had  something  to 
eat  I  will  take  you  to  where  the  good  priest  is 
living  —  but  my  taking  you  there  mustn't  be 
known." 

"Don't  you  trust  your  own  man?"  Lazuli 
asked. 

'  '  My  own  man  ?  Well,  you  see,  he's  just 
the  best  fellow  in  the  world  —  but  he's  got  a 
mighty  loosely  hung  tongue,  and  if  he  get's  only 


®l)e  &rri»ai  at  Utaiemort  63 

a  drop  in  him  his  tongue  will  wag!  He 
wouldn't  do  any  harm  himself,  but  his  talking 
might  do  a  good  deal — now  that  we  have  these 
new  laws  about  '  suspects.'  Here  in  Malemort 
all  of  us,  Red  and  White,  think  the  world  of 
Monsieur  Randoulet;  but  if  it  got  about  that 
strangers  had  come  to  see  him  there's  no  telling 
what  might  happen.  Somebody  might  talk 
about  it  in  Carpentras,  and  from  Carpentras  the 
talk  might  go  on  to  Avignon,  and  then  there 
might  be  trouble  here.  No,  before  my  man — 
since  he  can't  hold  his  tongue — you  must  hold 
yours.  But  I  know  who  you  are  and  what  you 
want — Caritous  has  told  me — and  I'll  do  all  I  can 
for  you.  With  me  you're  safe." 

While  she  talked,  Melio  opened  the  press 
and  brought  forth  a  white  table-cloth  which 
filled  the  room  with  a  fresh  smell  of  lavender  as 
she  shook  out  its  folds.  She  spread  the  table 
with  it,  set  out  yellow  earthenware  cups  and 
plates  with  blue  lines  around  their  edges,  and 
then  brought  out  a  great  loaf,  well  baked,  and 
the  little  cheeses  and  a  long  dish  in  which  the 
honey-comb  lay  oozing  in  its  sweetness.  She 
placed  the  jug  of  wine  on  the  table,  and  added 
last  of  all  another  jug  fresh-filled  with  cool  water 
from  the  well. 

But  only  Jean  and  Clairet  did  justice  to  the 
meal.  In  spite  of  Jean's  urgent  advice  to  follow 
his  good  example,  the  women  were  too  much 
worried  to  do  more  than  nibble  at  their  food. 
However  Jean  and  Clairet  managed  between 
them  pretty  well  to  clear  the  table — and  Clairet 
had  to  be  fairly  dragged  away  from  the  honey 
or  he  would  have  eaten  it  all! 


64  ®l)e  iXtyite  terror 


"Now  then,"  said  Jean,  snapping  to  his 
knife,  "  we  must  be  up  and  off.  Are  you  ready, 
hostess,  to  take  us  to  see  that  good  man  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  ready,"  Melio  answered,  "  and  I've 
sent  my  chatterbox  to  the  stable  to  look  after 
the  horses,  and  so  he's  safe  out  of  the  way. 
And  this  is  a  good  time  to  go,  for  nearly  every- 
body's off  at  the  harvesting  in  the  fields.  All 
the  same,  we  had  better  not  talk.  Now,  come 
along." 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT   THE    HOUSE   OF   MONSIEUR   RANDOULET 

FOLLOWING  Melio's  lead,  they  went  out  into 
the  deserted  streets  and  through  them  until  they 
came  to  a  steep  and  narrow  lane.  At  the  mouth 
of  the  lane  Melio  stopped  and  silently  pointed 
up  it  to  a  little  house — a  wretched  little  ruin  of 
a  house  with  but  a  single  window.  She  gave  a 
nod  of  her  head,  as  much  as  to  say  "that's  it " 
—and  then  turned  and  went  back  to  the  inn. 

"Good  heavens!  What  a  poverty-stricken 
place!"  Lazuli  said  under  her  breath  as  they 
walked  the  few  steps  up  the  lane  to  this  miser- 
able dwelling.  She  did  not  knock,  but  raised 
the  latch  by  the  latchstring  and  opened  the  crazy 
door.  Before  them  was  a  little  square  lobby,  up 
from  which  went  a  dark  stair — a  rope  fastened 
to  the  wall  at  one  side  serving  for  a  balustrade. 
In  a  trembling  voice  Lazuli  called  softly:  "Is 
any  one  up  there  ?" 

Clip-clop  came  the  sound  of  sabots,  as Jane- 
toun,  the  Cure's  old  servant,  crossed  the  upper 
floor  to  the  head  of  the  stair;  and  then,  in  her 
harsh  voice,  Janetoun  called  down  through  the 
darkness : ' '  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"Monsieur  le  Cure  Randoulet,"  Lazuli  an- 
swered :  speaking  in  a  still  lower  voice  as  she 
uttered  the  Cure's  name. 

65 


66  dClje  tOtyite  terror 

"  Who  are  you?" 

"You  don't  know  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  To  ask  a  favour." 

Then  lighter  steps  were  heard  above,  and 
Monsieur  Randoulet's  kind  voice  called  down : 
"  Here  I  am,  good  woman.  Come  up  the  stair." 
He  had  heard  what  Lazuli  said,  and  when  he 
found  that  help**  of  some  sort  was  needed  he 
shut  his  breviary  and  hurried  to  give  it. 

As  old  Janetoun  heard  so  many  footsteps  on 
the  ricketty  stair  she  clasped  her  head  in  her 
hands  and  exclaimed:  "Heavens  and  earth! 
Who  can  they  be,  and  wherever  am  1  going  to 
find  seats  for  them  ?  They'll  just  have  to  stand 
on  their  own  legs!  " 

As  the  visitors  came  up,  one  after  the 
other,  Monsieur  Randoulet  welcomed  each  of 
them;  and  when  they  all  were  in  the  little 
kitchen  he  said  cordially:  "  Sit  down,  friends. 
Sit  down  and  rest  yourselves.  You  must  be 
tired — it  is  so  hot  outside." 

"It's  all  very  well  to  say  'sit  down,'" 
grumbled  Janetoun ;  "  but  what  are  four  people 
to  sit  on  when  there's  only  a  bench  with  a 
broken  leg  and  three  chairs  ?  " 

"That's  more  than  we  need,  my  good 
woman,"  said  Caritous.  "We  haven't  come 
here  to  settle  ourselves  until  the  silk-worms  are 
full-grown." 

"You  are  welcome  to  stay  as  long  as  you 
will,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  said  warmly.  "You 
can  see  for  yourselves  that  my  house  is  a  very 
little  one,  but  to  honest  folk  it  is  open  all  day — 
and  all  night  too!  " 


&t  il)e  fjottse  of  fftonsieur  Hanboulet    67 

Poor  Monsieur  Randoulet,  the  change  that 
had  come  to  him  was  a  sad  one — fit  to  bring 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  known  him 
as  he  dwelt  in  pontifical  state,  in  his  comfort- 
able curacy  in  former  times!  And  he  had 
changed  sadly  with  his  new  sad  surroundings. 
His  long  curly  gray  hair  had  thinned  and  had 
turned  white,  falling  scantily  over  his  shoulders 
as  the  snow  comes  down  from  the  crest  of  Mont 
Ventour.  His  plump  rosy  cheeks  had  lost  their 
plumpness  and  their  rbsiness  and  were  pale  and 
wrinkled,  and  his  comfortably  rounded  paunch 
— over  which  his  robe  had  stretched  smoothly 
— had  so  fallen  away  that  his  robe  fell  in 
deep  folds  everywhere.  His  hands  still  were 
beautifully  white  and  smooth,  but  they  had  lost 
their  chubbiness  and  were  lean  and  wrinkled 
and  long.  Only  his  eyes  remained  unchanged: 
they  flashed  as  of  old — and,  as  of  old,  the  flash 
was  tempered  by  the  sweetest  benignity.  But 
for  his  shining  eyes  and  his  gentle  voice,  Adeline 
would  not  have  recognized  him.  On  his  side, 
naturally,  there  was  no  recognition.  The 
thought  did  not  enter  his  mind  that  the  boy 
before  him  was  Mademoiselle  la  Comtessine 
d'Ambrun. 

"  Well,  good  friends,"  he  began  in  his  kindly 
voice,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  I  am — 

"Monsieur  Randoulet,"  Lazuli  interrupted, 
"it  is  for  the  sake  of  this  child  that  we  have 
come  to  you.  You  do  not  know  her,  and  I 
don't  wonder.  She  is — 

And  then  old  Janetoun  broke  in  with  a  gasp: 
"It's  Mademoiselle  Adeline — the  Comtessine! 
Oh  Monsieur  Randoulet,  it's  she  for  sure!  She's 


68  ®l)e  tOtjite  terror 

wearing  the  very  clothes  that  she  made  herself 
to  be  given  to  one  of  your  poor  people,  and  that 
you  gave  to  little  Pascalet.  It's  she!  It's  she!" 
And  the  old  woman  made  to  Adeline  the  same 
reverent  courtesy  that  she  had  been  used  to 
make  to  her  in  the  old  days. 

Monsieur  Randoulet  was  so  utterly  aston- 
ished that  for  a  moment  he  was  unable  to 
speak,  then  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  and  he  said, 
brokenly:  ''Mademoiselle!  You!  What  mis- 
fortune has  overtaken  you  that  you  come  to  me 
dressed  in  those  clothes  which  you  made  with 
your  own  charitable  hands  ?" 

Adeline  flushed  painfully,  without  replying, 
and  Lazuli  answered  for  her:  "Monsieur  le 
Cure,  this  child's  story  is  a  long  one  and  a  sad 
one.  Every  possible  misfortune  has  happened 
to  her  since  she  went  away  from  here  a  year 
ago.  And  now  she  has  come  back  here  trusting 
to  you  for  help." 

"All  the  help  that  I  can  give  her,"  Monsieur 
Randoulet  answered  earnestly,  "she  shall  have. 
All  that  I  possess,  and  all  of  the  little  that  re- 
mains of  my  life  and  strength,  are  hers.  I  am  as 
poor,  now,  as  the  Prophet  Job;  but  while  I  live 
she  shall  share  my  water  and  my  bread  to  the 
last  drop  and  the  last  crumb.  That  may  not  be 
for  long.  For  me  nothing  remains  but  to  ask 
God  in  his  mercy  to  forgive  me  my  sins^and  to 
take  me  to  Him  in  His  bright  Paradise! " 

"  Rather  may  God  long  preserve  you  on  this 
earth,  to  console  and  to  guard  people  as  unhappy 
as  we  are!"  Adeline  answered  in  her  sweet 
clear  voice,  and  added:  "Monsieur  le  Cure,  we 
greatly  need  your  help." 


Sit  tl)e  tjouse  0f  monsieur  Uanbotilet    69 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  Lazuli,  "we 
need  your  help  in  hiding  this  poor  child  away 
from  those  who  seek  her  life.  But,  to  make  it 
all  clear  to  you,  I  must  tell  you  what  has  hap- 
pened to  her  in  this  dreadful  year.  Shall  I  tell 
you  now  ?  I  warn  you  that  I  shall  not  soon  be 
done." 

"  Go  on,  my  daughter,"  Monsieur  Randoulet 
answered,  with  a  warm  note  of  sympathy  in  his 
gentle  voice.  "  The  calls  upon  my  time  are  few 
now;  but  even  were  '.hey  many  I  would  listen 
to  you  willingly  for  as  long  as  you  please." 

And  then,  beginning  with  their  meeting  in 
the  stage-coach  when  La  Jacarasse  was  carrying 
off  the  Cpmtessine  to  Paris,  Lazuli  told  of  Ade- 
line's perils  from  that  day  onward  in  Paris  and 
in  Avignon — perils  which  still  continued,  since 
Calisto  still  was  searching  for  her;  and  inter- 
woven necessarily  with  this  narrative  was  much 
about  Pascalet  and  her  own  Vauclair. 

Save  for  a  question  now  and  then,  Monsieur 
Randoulet  let  her  tell  her  story  in  her  own 
way.  But  his  tears  fell  as  he  listened ;  and  old 
Janetoun  kept  up  at  first  such  a  series  of  groans 
and  exclamations  that  she  had  to  be  silenced. 
After  that  she  listened  quietly,  standing  in  a 
corner  and  from  time  to  time  wringing  her  old 
hands. 

"And  now,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  Lazuli  ex- 
claimed indignantly,  when  at  last  she  had  fin- 
ished, "  what  do  you  think  of  all  this  ?  How 
is  it  possible  that  a  God  who  is  just  and  good 
can  leave  the  breath  in  such  wretches  as  La  Ja- 
carasse and  Surto  and  Calisto  ?  And  how  is  it 
possible  that  the  men  of  the  Convention,  sent 


70  ®l)e  tittle 


there  by  the  people  to  put  an  end  to  tyranny, 
have  become  tyrants  themselves  ?  They  are 
worse  than  tyrants!  In  the  name  of  Liberty 
and  Fraternity  they  rule  over  us.  yet  they  make 
use  of  monsters  who  only  care  to  rob  and  kill! 
In  a  pretty  state  of  topsy-turveydom  things  are 
now  —  when  we,  the  loyal  Liberals  and  good 
Republicans,  are  treated  as  'suspects';  when 
innocent  people  like  this  child  here  —  with  the 
very  clothes  on  her  back  showing  how  kind  and 
charitable  she  is  —  must  hide  themselves  for  fear 
of  these  unchained  murderers'  knives  !  Oh  how, 
I  say,  can  a  wise  and  a  merciful  God  let  such 
things  be!  " 

Speaking  very  quietly  and  calmly,  Monsieur 
Randoulet  made  answer  to  Lazuli's  outburst. 
"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  that  all  that 
has  happened  had  to  happen.  I  believe  that 
God  has  willed  it  to  happen  because  He  is  just 
and  righteous.  The  great  ones  of  the  earth, 
the  kings  and  the  rich  men  in  power,  long 
enough  have  been  suffered  to  drain  the  blood 
from  the  veins  of  the  people.  God  wished  to 
put  an  end  to  that  injustice,  and  he  raised  the 
mighty  tempest  of  the  Revolution.  When  a 
fierce  wind  blows  through  the  orchards  both  the 

§reen  fruit  and  the  ripe  fruit  are  torn  from  the 
ranches;  and  both,  falling,  are  sorely  bruised. 
So,  also,  the  rushing  storm  of  the  Revolution, 
beating  upon  the  unjust,  has  not  spared  the  just 
wholly. 

"Do  not  blame  man  for  this.  Man  is  the 
instrument  of  the  Most  High  —  but  not  a  perfect 
instrument.  Wrong  has  been  done  by  these 
men  of  the  Convention  whom  you  would  curse; 


&t  tl)e  $anse  of  ittonaiettr  Uanboiilet    71 

but  they  have  done,  they  are  doing,  more  right 
than  wrong.  They  are  making  over  our  un- 
just laws  into  just  laws.  They  are  gathering 
armies  to  defend  and  to  protect  our  land.  The 
kings,  the  emperors,  all  the  tyrants  of  the  whole 
world,  are  banded  together  to  destroy  us. 
What  is  worse,  for  it  is  the  shame  of -our  coun- 
try, the  sons  of  France  not  only  have  deserted 
her  in  her  peril,  but  are  fighting  against  her. 
With  the  strangers  who  come  to  spoil  our  land 
come  also  Frenchmei? — the  runaway  nobles 
come  back  to  claim  again  their  rights  which 
were  the  people's  wrongs.  It  is  just  that  the 
heads  of  those  rotten  nobles  should  be  cast 
down  into  the  bloody  mire.  If  injustice  is  done 
also,  we  must  not  complain.  No,  no,  my 
daughter,  repine  not!  The  tempest  of  Almighty 
God  is  blowing  through  the  land.  His  will  be 
done!  His  scales  will  weigh  the  guilty,  and 
they  will  not  escape.  Those  who  seek  to  kill 
this  innocent  child  that  they  may  keep  safely 
their  stolen  gain  will  come  to  their  reckoning. 
They,  and  such  as  they,  will  perish  by  the  fiery 
sword  of  God! " 

Monsieur  Randoulet  was  silent  for  a  moment 
when  he  had  ended  this  impassioned  utterance; 
and  then,  speaking  in  a  quieter  tone,  continued: 
"And  now  for  you,  my  dear  children,  from  this 
time  forth  my  house  is  your  home.  All  that  is 
mine  is  yours.  I  regret  only  that  I  have  so  little 
to  offer  you — but  I  have  fallen,  as  many  others 
have  fallen,  upon  evil  times." 

"  I  knew  that  we  had  knocked  at  a  door  that 
would  open  wide  to  us,"  Lazuli  answered,  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  because  Monsieur  Ran- 


72  ®l)e  tBbite  terror 


doulet's  warm  charity  touched  her  to  the  very 
heart.  "  But  it  is  not  for  all  of  us  that  I  ask  ref- 
uge— only  for  this  dear  persecuted  child.  And 
it  is  enough  that  you  shelter  her ;  she  must  not 
be  a  burden  on  you  too.  Only  this  morning, 
Monsieur  le  Cure,  my  husband  left  me  that  he 
might  go  off  to  fight  for  the  Republic  in  the 
army  of  the  Pyrenees.  But  he  did  not  leave  me 
quite  in  poverty.  Mite  by  mite,  we  have  saved 
up  some  sous ;  and  all  that  he  saved  he  gave  to 
me  for  our  baby  and  for  our  Adeline.  '  Keep 
it  all,'  he  said,  'for  you'll  need  it  for  yourself 
and  the  children.  As  for  me,  never  fear  but  I'll 
find  wells  enough  for  my  thirst  and  crusts 
enough  for  my  hunger.  Why,  just  fighting  for 
country  and  for  liberty  is  food  and  drink  for  a 
man  in  these  days ! '  Not  a  sou  would  he  take, 
my  brave  good  man,  my  patriot — not  a  single 
sou!  And  so,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  what  my 
Vauclair  left  with  me  for  Adeline  I  leave  here 
with  you." 

And  then,  as  she  fumbled  in  her  pocket, 
Lazuli  fairly  broke  down — sobbing  and  weeping 
like  the  Magdalen  at  the  thought  of  leaving 
Adeline,  and  of  Monsieur  Randoulet's  goodness, 
and  of  the  hurt  of  her  parting  with  her  Vauclair. 
Still  in  tears,  she  drew  out  a  handkerchief  knot- 
ted at  the  corner;  and  when  the  knot  was  loos- 
ened laid  upon  the  table  a  little  heap  of  silver 
coin. 

All  this  so  moved  Jean  Caritous  that  sud- 
denly he  burst  out  crying  too — big  tears  roll- 
ing down  his  nose  while  his  hand  went  to 
his  pocket  under  the  skirt  of  his  blouse. 
"Don't  mind  my  going  on  this  way,  please, 


lit  ttye  peruse  of  iHonsicnr  ttanboulct    73 

Monsieur  le  Cure,"  he  said.  "  I'm  no  cry-baby, 
but  somehow  you're  so  good  and  so  kind,  and 
you  say  such  beautiful  things,  that  it's  more  than 
I  can  stand !  And  you  sha'n't  take  the  bread  out 
of  your  own  mouth  to  fee.d  our  little  dear  if  I 
can  help  it.  I've  carted  her  from  Paris  to  Avi- 
gnon, and  I've  carted  her  from  Avigncffi  here,  and 
every  hour  that  I've  been  with  her  I've  grown 
to  be  more  fond  of  her — until  now  she's  come 
to  be  dearer  to  me  than  the  light  of  my  own 
eyes.  And  so,  Monsteur  le  Cure,  I'll  just  leave 
with  you  for  her  what  I  have  in  my  bag.  I 
wish  there  was  more  to  leave.  But  I'll  manage 
to  send  some  more  later  on."  As  Jean  pulled 
out  his  purse  his  tears  streamed  down  upon  his 
blouse,  and  his  big  coarse  hands  so  shook  that 
he  had  trouble  in  untying  the  thong.  But  he 
got  it  loose  at  last,  and  poured  out  upon  the 
table  a  little  stream  of  silver  pieces  beside  La- 
zuli''s  offering. 

Monsieur  Randoulet,  rising,  pushed  away 
the  silver  spread  out  on  the  table  before  him. 
•'Of  what  are  you  thinking!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Take  it  back!  I  do  not  need  it.  There  are 
still,  thank  God,  charitable  folk  about  us  here 
who  will  not  let  us  suffer  for  lack  of  food.  Take 
it  back,  I  say." 

Adeline  also  had  risen.  Clasping  Lazuli  in 
her  arms  she  said  brokenly:  "Do  you  mean  then 
to  leave  me,  and  to  give  me  your  last  sou  ?  No, 
no,  dear  Lazuli,  that  must  not  be.  You  must 
stay  with  me  here,  where  we  shall  need  little,  and 
we  will  make  our  home  in  my  Chateau  de  la 
Garde.  In  the  Chateau  there  is  room  for  all  of 
us  and  to  spare." 


74  ®f)e  tDl)ite  terror 

While  this  talk  went  on  Janetoun  scarcely 
could  contain  herself.  She  had  the  peasant's 
love  for  money,  and  she  knew  how  bitterly 
money  was  needed  just  then.  Adeline's  speech 
was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  broke  out 
sharply  :  "  Mademoiselle  la  Comtessine,  I'm 
sorry  to  have  to  tell  you  that  you  haven't  got 
any  Chateau.  This  new  government  has  got 
its  claws  on  it.  It  isn't  any  longer  yours  at 
all.  They  are  quite  right,  this  Dame  Lazuli  and 
this  man,  in  wanting  to  leave  here  for  you  a 
few  sous." 

"Come,  come,  Janetoun,"  said  Monsieur 
Randoulet,  "where  there's  enough  for  two 
there's  enough  for  three.  We  do  not  need  that 
money.  We  can  get  along  without  it,  never 
fear." 

"That's  all  very  well  for  you  to  say,  Mon- 
sieur le  Cure,"  Janetoun  answered  ;  "  but  1  who 
make  the  pot  boil  know  what  goes  into  the  pot. 
Many  a  time  I  split  a  clove  of  garlic  so  that  I  can 
make  our  broth  with  it  for  two  days,  and  I  cut 
our  bread  into  wafer  slices  to  make  one  loaf  last 
as  long  as  two."  As  she  spoke,  she  was  sidling 
toward  the  table,  with  her  apron  held  up  by  the 
corners,  devouring  the  money  with  her  sharp 
old  eyes. 

Jean  Caritous  settled  the  matter  in  his  own 
way.  With  one  of  his  big  hands  he  swept  the 
money  off  the  table  into  the  other,  and  then 
flung  the  whole  of  it  into  Janetoun's  apron. 
Her  eyes  gleamed  as  it  jingled  there.  In  an  in- 
stant, tightly  clutching  her  apron,  she  had  van- 
ished behind  the  curtain  of  the  alcove. 

"Janetoun!  Janetoun!"    Monsieur  Randou- 


Sit  tlje  Ijonse  of  Blonsienr  ftanboulet    75 

let  called  after  her,  "this  won't  do  at  all!  Bring 
back  that  money.  These  good  folks  need  it 
themselves!"  But  she  paid  no  attention  to  his 
order.  They  could  hear  the  rustling  she  made 
about  the  bed  as  she  hid  away  her  lean  treasure 
safely  in  the  straw. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PARTING   AT  MALEMORT 

LAZULI'S  heart  was  heavy,  for  at  last  the  mo- 
ment had  come  when  she  and  Adeline  must 
part.  Very  tenderly  she  took  the  young  girl  in 
her  arms. 

"My  darling  child,"  she  said,  "  I  must  leave 
you  now,  but  you  know  that  it  is  not  of  my 
own  wish  that  I  go.  It  is  for  your  safety. 
You  can  be  safely  hidden  here  alone,  but  if  Clai- 
ret  and  Joy  and  I  staid  in  Malemort,  it  would  be 
to  your  peril.  That  wretch  who  is  tracking  you 
surely  would  find  you  again.  And  so  we  are 
going  away  from  you — to  Malaucene,  where  my 
own  people  are.  There  I  shall  stay  until  these 
cruel  times  are  ended,  and  then  I  will  come  for 
you  again.  And  do  not  fear  that  I  shall  not  find 
you,  for  I  am  leaving  you  in  kind  and  holy 
guard.  You  will  be  close  in  my  heart  all  the 
time,  and  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  close  in  yours. 
And  when  the  better  times  come,  as  they  surely 
will  come,  Vauclair  and  I  will  care  for  you — for 
we  look  upon  you  as  our  own  dear  child.  If 
what  Janetoun  says  is  true,  if  your  house  and 
your  lands  have  been  taken  away  from  you, 
you  still  shall  not  want  for  a  home.  Never  fear 
but  that  we  will  work  for  you,  just  as  we  shall 
work  for  our  own  Clairet." 
76 


®l]c  parting  at  Ittaiemort  77 

At  this  mention  of  his  own  name  the  bewil- 
dered thoughts  in  Clairet's  little  head  took  form 
in  speech,  and  he  piped  up  suddenly:  "  I  won't 
give  my  sister  Adeline  to  Monsieur  le  Cure!  " 
and  with  an  outburst  of  tears  he  caught  Adeline 
in  his  little  arms. 

Too  broken  for  words,  Adeline  pressed  the 
child  to  her  breast  and  covered  him  with  kisses. 
Then  she  embraced  the  others — old  Joy,  so 
stunned  with  all  these  strange  doings  that  she 
was  speechless;  big  Je*n  Caritous,  who  fairly 
blubbered  like  a  child;  and  at  last  Lazuli  again. 
Close-clasped  they  held  each  other,  weeping — 
until  at  last,  gently  loosening  the  poor  child's 
hold,  Lazuli  turned  to  go.  That  she  might  not 
see  them  leaving  her,  Adeline  bent  down  over 
the  table,  sobbing,  her  face  in  her  hands.  But 
she  could  hear,  though  she  could  not  see,  and 
the  simple  words  of  parting  cut  her  like  knives. 

"  Good-bye,  good  friends,"  said  Monsieur 
Randoulet  in  his  kind  voice.  "God  care  for 
you  on  your  journey.  Take  shelter  early.  Do 
not  let  nightfall  overtake  you  on  the  road." 

"Thank  you.  Monsieur  le  Cure.  We  shall 
be  prudent.  Do  not  fear  for  us,"  Lazuli  an- 
swered. "  And  you,  I  trust  you  to  watch  over 
my  dear  child.  The  bundle  on  the  table  has  her 
own  clothes  in  it — her  right  dress  as  a  girl.  If 
she  sorrows  too  bitterly  you  must  get  word 
to  me,  and  I  will  manage  somehow  to  come  to 
her.  You  will  promise  to  get  word  to  me,  Mon- 
sieur ?" 

"I  promise,  my  daughter.  God  be  with  all 
of  you.  Adessias!"  And  the  door  closed. 
Outside,  for  a  moment,  was  the  sharp  clicking 


78  ®l)c  tofjite  terror 

of  Jean's  hob-nailed  shoes  on  the  cobble-stones. 
Then  all  was  still. 

Old  Janetoun,  come  back  from  hiding  the  sil- 
ver in  Monsieur  le  Cure's  straw  mattress,  saw  the 
bundle  lying  on  the  table  and  was  more  inter- 
ested in  it  than  in  the  sobbing  girl  to  whom  it 
belonged.  Like  all  of  her  sex,  Janetoun  was 
full  of  curiosity.  Presently  she  had  her  hands 
upon  the  bundle,  feeling  it  searchingly;  and 
then,  as  she  could  make  nothing  of  it  that  way, 
she  loosened  the  string  and  opened  it.  All  that 
she  found  was  a  plain  little  black  frock  and  some 
linen,  and  she  threw  the  garments  down  on  the 
table  with  a  sniff  that  seemed  to  say:  "  Well,  is 
that  all!" 

But  as  the  frock  fell  upon  the  table  there  was 
a  clear  jingling  sound,  not  to  be  mistaken,  that 
made  the  covetous  old  creature  snatch  it  up 
again  and  search  in  the  pocket  eagerly.  And 
there  she  found  three  silver  crowns — the  very 
three  crowns  that  Pascalet  had  received  when 
he  enlisted  in  the  army  of  the  Republic,  and  that 
he  had  sent  by  William  the  Patriot  to  Vauclair! 
At  that  instant  Monsieur  Randoulet  turned,  and 
saw  her  with  the  bundle  open  before  her. 
"What  are  you  doing  there,  Janetoun?"  he 
asked. 

"  Only  looking  at  this  old  frock,  and  the  tat- 
ters that  are  with  it,  Monsieur." 

"  They  must  be  hidden  away  carefully,  Jane- 
toun. Mademoiselle  Adeline  has  come  here 
dressed  as  a  boy,  and  as  a  boy  she  must  for  the 
present  remain.  But  that  dress  must  be  kept 
safely  in  case  she  should  need  it  again." 

"Certainly,  Monsieur,"  Janetoun  answered 


Qllje  parting  at  Ulakmort  79 


submissively.  "I  will  put  it  away  most  care- 
fully- Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed."  As  she 
spoke,  she  began  to  fold  up  the  little  frock  again 
— when  Monsieur  Randoulet  caught  the  glint 
of  the  silver  pieces  only  partly  hidden  in  her 
hand. 

"What's  that  in  your  hand,  Janetcun?"  he 
asked. 

"  That  ?  Oh,  nothing  worth  speaking  about. 
Just  a  piece  or  two  of  money  that  1  found. 
Nothing  at  all." 

"Where  did  you  find  it?"  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet went  on,  in  a  tone  most  unusually  and 
most  uncomfortably  stern. 

"  It  was  in  the  pocket  of  this  old  frock,  Mon- 
sieur! " 

As  Adeline  heard  this,  and  realized  suddenly 
that  Janetoun  had  taken  possession  of  those 
precious  three  crowns  which  had  come  from 
Pascalet,  her  first  impulse  was  to  spring  upon 
the  old  woman  and  snatch  them  away  from  her. 
She  half  rose — and  then,  ashamed  of  her  impulse, 
she  dropped  her  head  into  her  hands  again  and 
said  piteously :  "  Oh  please  don't  take  my  three 
crowns  from  me! " 

"Give  back  to  Mademoiselle  her  money! 
Give  it  back  to  her  instantly !"  cried  Monsieur 
Randoulet  with  such  energy  that  he  fairly  made 
old  Janetoun  jump. 

"No,  no,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  Adeline, 
her  head  still  in  her  hands,  "  let  Janetoun  keep 
it.  I  did  wrong  in  asking  for  it  back  again." 

"You  did  right  in  asking  for  it,  my  child, 
for  it  is  yours.  Do  not  think  for  a  moment  that 
I  would  even  dream  of  allowing  to  be  taken 


8o  ®l)c  tt)l)ite 


away  from  you  what  is  your  own.  God  knows 
that  the  day  may  come  soon  when  you  will  need 
those  three  crowns." 

"It  is  not  as  money,  Monsieur,  that  I  am 
thinking  of  them,"  sighed  Adeline.  "They 
have  another  value  to  me.  They  are  more  to 
me  than  all  the  money  in  the  world!  " 

Monsieur  Randoulet  did  not  pry  into  Ade- 
line's mystery.  Stroking  her  head  gently  he 
said:  "  Well,  they  are  safe  now.  See,  Janetoun 
has  put  them  back  into  the  pocket  of  your  frock 
again,  and  there  they  shall  stay  safely.  And 
now  dry  your  eyes,  my  daughter,  and  we  will 
take  a  little  walk  together  before  the  setting  of 
the  sun.  A  walk  in  these  quiet  fields  in  harvest 
time,  here  in  your  own  birthplace,  will  take  the 
fever  out  of  your  blood  and  give  you  rest." 

The  thought  of  a  walk  in  the  fields  in  full 
harvest  time,  and  in  these  dear  fields  of  her  own,  '• 
acted  like  magic  upon  Adeline.  She  stood  up 
instantly,  and  smiling  through  her  tears  ex- 
claimed: "And  may  we  walk  toward  La 
Garde  ?  " 

"Certainly,  my  child,  if  you  wish  to." 

"You  are  very  good  to  take  me  there, 
Monsieur  le  Cure.  I  long  to  see  my  own  home 
again." 

"I  cannot  take  you  to  see  it  quite  as  you 
mean,  my  child.  We  can  only  walk  round 
about  it.  You  forget  that  no  one  must  know 
who  you  are.  God  keep  you  from  being  recog- 
nised —  and  you  might  be  if  we  went  to  the 
Chateau." 

Adeline's  face  clouded  for  a  moment,  and 
then  brightened  again.  "  But  we  may  go  to 


®l)e  parting  at  ittaletnort  81 

the  hut  of  La  Garde — where  the  Pascals  live — 
may  we  not  ?  " 

"  We  had  better  not  do  that  either,  to-day," 
Monsieur  Randoulet  answered.  "To-day  we 
will  take  no  risks,  and  by  what  happens  we 
will  know  what  will  be  safe  to  do  later.  And 
now  let  us  be  off." 

As  he  spoke,  Monsieur  Randoulet  picked  up 
his  breviary,  and  then  they  went  out  together 
into  the  little  town.  Presently  they  passed  in 
front  of  the  church,  where  the  Cure  paused  for 
a  moment,  and  crossed  himself. 

"See,  my  child,"  he  said  sadly,  "my 
church  is  closed  to  me.  I  no  longer  am  permit- 
ted to  say  mass  there.  The  clubs  meet  in  the 
church,  and  what  was  my  own  house  has  been 
turned  into  a  prison.  Alas!  alas!  Oh  God  that 
such  a  change  should  come!  " 

With  his  little  clerk  beside  him  the  good 
Cure  went  on  in  sad  silence — out  through  the 
gate  of  St.  Felix  and  then,  to  Adeline's  delight, 
upward  by  the  Pramari  road  toward  La  Garde. 
Her  heart  thrilled  as  she  trod  again  that  stony 
road  over  which  she  had  passed  so  often — 
sometimes  on  foot,  sometimes  riding,  some- 
times in  the  great  coach.  Every  flower,  every 
bush,  every  tree,  even  the  very  stones  of  that 
road,  were  dear  to  her!  She  could  have  kissed 
the  field  poppies  on  the  roadside,  glowing  rich 
red  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  the  other  flowers 
which  she  gathered.  The  blackberries  which 
she  plucked  from  the  hedge-tangle  had  the 
sweet  taste  of  home.  And  through  the  hedges 
she  peered  eagerly,  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  hut  in  which  her  Pascalet  had  lived. 


82  ®|)c  tOljite 


Monsieur  le  Cure  had  opened  his  breviary 
and  was  reading  it  almost  aloud.  He  walked 
very  slowly,  that  he  might  not  stumble  against 
the  stones  or  into  the  ruts  of  the  rough  road. 
From  time  to  time  he  looked  up  to  heaven  and 
crossed  himself  on  his  lips  with  his  thumb. 
The  last  prayer  in  his  service  he  said  aloud, 
kneeling  on  the  stony  ground. 

They  were  high  up  on  the  hillside,  far 
above  the  village.  Adeline,  who  had  run  on 
ahead,  stopped  in  the  road  and  waited  for  him 
to  finish  his  prayer  and  join  her  again;  and 
while  she  waited  gazed  out  over  the  great  plain, 
that  had  the  look  of  being  flecked  with  gold- 
dust  as  it  lay  in  the  light  of  the  low-hanging 
sun.  Suddenly,  with  the  skip  of  a  little  kid, 
she  mounted  the  roadside  bank  and  clapped  her 
hands  in  delight  as  she  exclaimed:  "1  see 
them!  Look,  Monsieur  le  Cure!  Look!" 

"What  is  it,  my  child?"  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  asked  as  he  came  toward  her.  "  What 
do  you  see  that  makes  you  so  happy  ?  " 

"There!  there  !"  Adeline  answered,  point- 
ing eagerly.  "There  on  the  road  beyond  the 
village,  a  long  way  off.  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"See  what,  my  child?"  M.  Randoulet 
asked  as  he  mounted  the  bank  and  stood  be- 
side her,  and  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand 
from  the  nearly  level  sun-rays  looked  in  the 
direction  in  which  she  pointed. 

"  It  is  the  cart,  Monsieur.  It  is  Jean's  cart. 
Lazuli  and  Clairet  are  in  it,  and  dear  old  Joy  !  " 

"Truly,  I  do  see  a  cart,"  said  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet slowly.  "  Do  you  think  it  is  Jean's  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.     See,  it  is  covered,  and  it 


®l]e  parting  at  iUaiemort  83 

has  two  horses,  and  as  the  sun  strikes  it  you 
can  see  it  is  blue.  Oh  yes,  it  certainly  is  his!  " 
And  Adeline  stood  watching  the  distant  cart, 
her  heart  throbbing  with  both  joy  and  sorrow 
as  she  thought  of  the  dear  ones  who  were  leav- 
ing her  and  as  she  wondered  if  ever  she  would 
see  them  again.  Then  the  cart  dipped  in  among 
the  almond  trees  around  the  base  of  the  hill  of 
Serre;  showed  again  for  a  moment— and  then 
was  gone ! 

As  she  turned  with'  a  long  sigh,  Monsieur 
Raridoulet  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  gently. 
' '  Come  child, "  he  said.  ' '  Since  you  so  long  to 
see  Pascal's  hut  we  will,  at  least,  walk  past  it. 
But  we  cannot  stop  there,  and  we  must  go  on 
quickly,  for  the  sun  will  soon  be  down.  Re- 
member," he  added  warningly,  "  we  are  only 
to  say  good  day  in  passing.  We  cannot  stop 
to  talk;  and,  above  all,  you  must  not  give  the 
least  sign  of  who  you  are." 

From  the  road  they  turned  into  a  narrow 
path  that  wound  up  among  the  olive  trees. 
Long  shadows  lay  about  them.  The  goats, 
tethered  here  and  there  beside  the  grass-grown 
faces  of  the  terraces,  bleated  as  they  came  near 
—for  goat  bedtime  was  at  hand  and  the  people 
from  the  village  soon  would  be  coming  to  take 
the  creatures  home.  Below  the  orchards  were 
the  harvest  fields,  where  work  for  the  day  was 
almost  at  an  end.  A  few  peasants  still  were 
tying  and  shocking  the  last  sheaves.  More 
were  under  the  oaks,  getting  together  their 
coats  and  water-bottles  and  wallets.  Some 
already  had  started  for  the  village  in  little 
groups :  the  panniered  ass  ahead,  the  man  with 


84  ®hc  &l)ite  terror 

his  sickle  on  his  shoulder  following,  behind  him 
his  wife,  the  children  leading  the  goat  in  the 
rear — all  going  down  the  narrow  pathways  in 
single  file  through  the  level  sun-rays. 

Adeline's  heart  beat  faster  and'faster  as  they 
drew  near  and  nearer  to  the  hut  of  La  Garde — 
her  Pascalet's  home!  Through  the  olive  vistas 
she  could  see,  rising  from  among  the  great  elms 
and  oaks,  the  red-tiled  roof  and  turrets  of  the 
Chateau.  From  time  to  time  the  harsh  cry  of 
the  white  peacocks  there  sounded  through  the 
silence  of  sunset.  Over  the  trees  she  saw  the 
pigeons  flying  backward  and  forward  before 
settling  for  the  night — flashing  out  red-gold 
in  the  sunshine,  turning  to  blue-black  in  the 
shadows,  and  then  flashing  out  red-gold  again 
as  they  whirled  once  more  into  the  sunshine 
and  came  in  sweeping  curves  to  perch  on  the 
glazed  tiles  roofing  the  pigeon-tower.  As  they 
sat  there,  beating  their  wings  in  the  last  blood- 
red  sun-rays,  it  seemed  as  though  the  high 
shining  peak  of  the  tower  had  burst  into  a  flut- 
ter of  flame. 

And  so,  surrounded  by  these  home  sights 
which  filled  her  heart  with  mingled  joy  and 
sorrow,  and  with  an  undercurrent  of  sweet 
thoughts  about  her  Pascalet,  she  went  onward 
with  Monsieur  Randoulet  toward  the  hut  of  La 
parde. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LA  PATINE  AND  OLD  PASCAL 

" GOD  be  with  you,  La  Ratine!"  Monsieur 
Randoulet  called  out  cordially,  as  they  passed 
in  front  of  the  open  door  of  the  hut  and  saw 
Pascalet's  mother  bending  over  the  fire-place 
within.  But  he  walked  on  without  stopping, 
leading  Adeline  by  the  hand. 

This  was  not  at  all  to  La  Ratine's  liking.  Her 
life  was  a  lonely  one  up  there  on  the  hillside, 
where  rarely  a  soul  came  near  her,  and  she 
dearly  loved  a  chance  to  talk.  Leaving  her  pot 
to  boil  itself,  she  bustled  to  the  doorway,  crying 
out:  "Dear!  Dear!  Is  that  you,  Monsieur  le 
Cure  ?  Why,  how  fast  you  walk !  Surely  you 
can  stop  for  a  moment.  Just  think  how  long  it 
is  since  I've  laid  eyes  on  you! " 

Monsieur  Randoulet  halted,  but  answered 
over  his  shoulder  without  turning:  "  It's  getting 
late,  my  good  Ratine.  I  must  hurry  home.  I 
no  longer  have  twenty-year  legs,  you  know. 
It  does  not  do  for  me  to  go  stumbling  along 
these  rough  paths  after  dark." 

But  La  Ratine,  who  was  not  to  be  put  off 
with  excuses,  came  toward  them.  "And  so," 
she  said,  looking  at  Adeline,  "you  have  caught 
a  little  clerk." 

"Yes,  I  have  caught  a  little  clerk,"  Monsieur 


86  ®l)e  &)l)Ue  terror 

Randoulet  answered.  As  he  spoke  he  put  his 
arm  on  Adeline's  shoulder  and  drew  her  toward 
him;  seeking  in  that  way,  under  cover  of  a 
caress,  to  hide  her  face. 

La  Patine  came  closer.  "What  a  dear  little 
boy  he  is!  "  she  said.  "  But  he  is  as  pale  and 
delicate  looking  as  a  young  lady."  And  then 
she  sighed  sadly  and  added:  "Whenever  1  see 
a  boy  of  about  that  age,  a  nice  boy  like  this  one, 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  see  my  own  Pascalet!  Ah 
me,  who  knows  where  that  poor  innocent  is 
now!" 

"God  is  guarding  him,"  Monsieur  Randou- 
let answered.  "  He  will  send  him  safe  back  to 
you.  Some  day  when  you  least  are  expecting 
him,  back  he  will  come — proud  as  Artaban  and 
gay  and  well!" 

"God  grant  it!"  La  Patine  said  reverently, 
and  as  she  spoke  she  stroked  Adeline's  cheek. 
The  young  girl  thrilled  with  her  touch  and 
longed  to  kiss  her  rough  old  hand.  "Tell  me, 
my  pretty  boy,  do  you  know  how  to  sing  the 
mass?"  she  asked. 

"  It  does  not  make  much  difference  whether 
he  knows  or  not,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  inter- 
posed quickly,  fearful  that  Adeline's  voice  would 
betray  her.  "There  is  no  mass  to  sing,  now. 
God's  home  no  longer  is  for  God's  servants.  It 
is  the  home  of  those  who  hearken  not  to  his 
word." 

La  Patine  looked  affectionately  at  Adeline — 
this  boy  who  made  her  think  of  her  own  Pasca- 
let. She  fumbled  in  her  pocket  for  something 
that  she  might  give  to  him.  There  was  little  in 
her  pocket — only  two  acorns  and  a  nut  and  a 


£a  fJatine  anb  (2Mb  Pascal  87 

dry  bean.  She  had  found  them  and  was  treasur- 
ing them  against  some  day  when  she  should 
have  no  other  food.  But  she  was  shy  about 
making  her  poor  little  gift;  and  presently  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  moved  on  with  Adeline  and 
said:  "Well,  well.  Good-bye,  La  Ratine.  We 
shall  see  you  another  day." 

Then  she  plucked  up  courage,  and  drawing 
the  nut  from  her  pocket  said:  "  Here,  my  pretty 
boy.  This  is  all  that  I  have  to  give  you,  this 
single  nut.  But  it  is  a  good  nut.  So  here  it  is 
for  you." 

"Thank  you!  "  said  Adeline  in  a  trembling 
voice — and  then  she  and  Monsieur  Randoulet 
walked  on. 

La  Ratine  stood  watching  them,  puzzled — 
until  a  hissing  sound  inside  the  hut  made  her 
run  quickly  to  the  fire-place  to  safeguard  her 
over-boiling  pot  of  vetches.  But  as  she  lifted 
the  pot  off  the  fire  she  muttered  to  herself,  still 
puzzled:  "  Surely  I've  seen  that  face  somewhere, 
and  surely  I've  heard  that  voice!  " 

Adeline  and  Monsieur  Randoulet  hurried 
downward  along  the  stony  path.  Far  off,  at 
the  end  of  the  great  plain,  the  sun  was  setting. 
Only  half  of  it  remained  above  the  horizon — 
arching  like  a  huge  fiery  bridge  over  the  crest  of 
the  Cevennes. 

Among  the  olive-trees,  coming  home  from 
his  gleaning,  they  met  La  Ratine's  husband,  old 
Pascal.  All  day  long,  hungry  and  thirsty,  he 
had  gleaned  in  the  hot  sunshine  behind  the 
binders.  On  his  shoulder  was  the  poor  little 
sheaf  that  he  had  gathered — the  few  grains 
which  he  had  saved  from  the  ants  and  the  field- 


terror 


mice  and  the  birds.  It  was  a  very  lean  sheaf, 
but  from  it  would  be  made  the  best  bread  of  his 
year.  As  he  came  close  to  Monsieur  Randoulet 
and  his  little  clerk  he  stepped  out  from  the  path 
to  make  way  for  them,  holding  his  cap  in  his 
hand  and  bending  his  head  reverently  as  he  said: 
"Good  evening  to  you,  Monsieur  le  Cure — to 
you  and  your  company." 

"  God  be  with  you,  Father  Pascal !  "  Monsieur 
Randoulet  answered,  and  they  passed  on. 

Adeline  longed  to  call  "  Adessias!  "after  him, 
but  the  sight  of  his  scarred  old  face  had  brought 
such  a  lump  into  her  throat  that  she  could  not 
speak.  For  those  scars  were  the  traces  of  the 
cruel  whip-strokes  which  her  own  brother  and 
Surto  had  given  the  poor  old  man  only  a  year 
before !  The  pity  of  it  wrung  her  heart. 

In  silence  they  went  onward — hurrying 
through  the  olive  orchards,  and  hurrying  still 
faster  when  they  came  out  on  the  wide  Pramari 
road.  Dark  was  upon  them,  and  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet was  eager  to  get  home  before  darkness 
fell. 

"  But  surely.  Monsieur,"  Adeline  said,  "there 
is  no  danger  here  from  the  bad  people  of  the 
Revolution  ?" 

"Do  not  call  the  Revolutionists  bad,  my 
child,"  the  Cure  answered.  "  The  Revolution  is 
necessary  and  right,  and  there  is  nothing  to  fear 
from  those  who  are  loyal  to  its  principles:  they 
are  carrying  out  the  commandment  of  God! 
Whom  I  fear  are  others  of  a  very  different  sort: 
the  men  who  are  seeking  to  destroy  God's  good 
work,  to  undo  what  the  Revolutionists  have 
done.  There  are  many  of  these — men  like  Surto 


£ct  fJcitine  anb  QMb  fJascal 


and  Calisto  des  Sablees,  who  were  Aristocrats 
yesterday  and  who  will  be  Aristocrats  again  to- 
morrow if  the  wind  turns  that  way;  men  who 
take  advantage  of  these  troublous  times  to  fur- 
ther their  own  ends  by  any  sort  of  crime.  Them 
I  fear  greatly,  and  the  more  because  the  honest 
men  of  the  country  are  not  here  toxstay  their 
hands.  You  must  remember,  my  child,  that 
almost  every  patriot  who  can  carry  a  gun  is  fight- 
ing on  our  frontiers.  The  flower  and  the  strength 
of  France  is  at  war  with  the  foreigners  who  seek 
to  conquer  us — only  the  feeble  and  the  old  remain 
at  home.  That  is  why  we  are  at  the  mercy  of 
these  criminals  who  oppress  us — hypocrites  who 
shelter  themselves  under  liberty  caps,  cowards 
who  hide  away  in  the  forests  that  they  may  not 
have  to  fight  against  our  country's  enemies. 
Aristocrats  who  bide  their  time.  These  prowl 
by  night  like  wolves,  robbing  and  murdering; 
these  serve  the  cause  of  the  Tyrant  to  whom  we 
owe  every  one  of  the  many  bitter  troubles  which 
are  weighing  us  down  to-day;  these  are  the  pur- 
suers of  such  innocents  as  you  and  Lazuli ;  these 
are  they  who  are  ready  to  drown  France  in  blood 
in  order  to  set  up  the' Tyrant  again  and  to  bring 
us  once  more  under  the  heel  of  a  despot  ruling 
by  brute  force!  But  let  us  not  blame,  for  the 
sins  of  these  wretches,  the  patriots  of  the  Con- 
vention— whom  God  has  commissioned  to  give 
back  to  the  people  their  liberty  and  their  rights; 
let  us  not  condemn  the  Revolutionists  because 
with  the  great  rights  they  have  won  for  us  we 
must  suffer  for  a  season  a  few  wrongs.'' 

As  Monsieur  Randoulet  ceased  speaking  they 
passed  through  the  gate  of  Saint  Felix,  and  pres- 


9°  ®f)e  tOfyite  terror 

ently  were  come  safely  to  the  forlorn  little  house 
again.  Janetoun  was  awaiting  them  anxiously, 
knowing  all  the  perils  which  might  beset  them 
after  nightfall  in  those  dangerous  times.  She 
was  the  very  soul  of  faithfulness,  this  old  woman, 
in  spite  of  her  grasping  nature  and  her  rough 
tongue.  To  save  her  master,  she  would  have 
faced  bravely  the  National  Knife. 

"Well,  this  is  a  pretty  time  o'  day  to  be 
coming  home!  "  she  said  crossly. 

"There,  there,  Janetoun,  don't  scold  us," 
Monsieur  Randoulet  answered.  "The  wolves 
haven't  eaten  us.  Here  we  are." 

"No,  the  wolves  haven't  eaten  you,"  the  old 
woman  grumbled,  "but  it's  more  by  good  luck 
than  good  management  that  they  haven't. 
What's  the  good  of  being  out  at  night  when 
you  don't  have  to  ? — it's  bad  enough  when  your 
holy  duties  call  you  abroad! '' 

Monsieur  Randoulet  laid  his  finger  on  his 
lips  and  frowned.  "We  will  not  talk  about 
those  matters,"  he  said.  And  as  Janetoun 
stopped  short  he  added  :  "  Are  your  chick-peas 
well  cooked  and  ready  for  us  ?  " 
'  ' '  I  don't  know  how  well  cooked  they  are,  but 
they're  ready  for  you,"  she  answered  sourly :  and 
as  she  spoke  she  poured  the  reddish  soup  from 
the  pot  into  a  dish  in  which  were  slices  of  black 
bread. 

'•  Let  us  thank  God  we  have  good  teeth,  my 
child!  "  Monsieur  Randoulet  said  with  a  smile  to 
Adeline.  But  before  Adeline  could  answer  him 
Janetoun  broke  in  with:  "Good  teeth,  indeed, 
Monsieur  le  Cure!  So  that's  the  way  you  talk 
about  my  cooking!  And  those  peas  soaked  in 


£a  Ratine  anb  (JMb  pascal  91 

lye  and  boiled  in  rain  water!  Why,  they'll  fairly 
melt  in  your  mouth!  " 

And  so  they  did,  and  Monsieur  Randoulet  and 
Adeline  made  a  good  meal  upon  them,  washed 
down  with  cool  water  fresh  from  the  well.  It 
all  was  in  sharp  contrast  with  the  old  curacy, 
where  both  larder  and  cellar  always  had  been 
well  filled  and  where  there  had  been  always 
the  fragrance  of  incense  mingled  with  an  ap- 
petizing kitchen  smell.  But  there  was  enough 
of  wholesome  food  to  stay  their  hunger,  and  it 
was  sweetened  by  Monsieur  Randoulet's  gentle 
gaiety  and  the  kind  words  coming  from  his  good 
heart. 

Tired  out  after  her  sleepless  night  and  her 
long  day  of  journeying  and  excitement,  Ade- 
line's eyes  were  blinking  before  she  fairly  had 
finished  her  simple  meal.  "  Now  you  must  be 
off  to  sleep,  my  child,"  the  Cure  said.  "But 
first  we  will  pray."  Standing,  and  the  others 
standing  with  him,  he  said  the  prayer,  "Pater 
noster  qui  es  in  coeli " — to  which,  when  it  was 
ended,  Adeline  and  Janetoun  together  said 
"  Amen!  "  And  then  he  made  with  his  thumb 
upon  Adeline's  forehead  the  sign  of  the  cross. 
"Sleep  soundly,  my  child,"  he  said.  "To- 
morrow we  will  take  another  walk  in  the  fields 
among  God's  beautiful  flowers." 

Adeline  kissed  his  kind  hand,  and  as  he  left 
them  and  went  behind  the  white  curtains  into 
his  little  alcove  Janetoun  spread  a  mattress  upon 
the  floor.  "  That's  for  you,  Mademoiselle,"  she 
said  shortly.  "  As  for  me,  I'll  sleep  in  my  big 
armchair."  And  without  another  word  she  "blew 
out  the  light. 

7 


92 


Feeling  her  way  in  the  dark,  Adeline  stretched 
herself  upon  the  mattress.  But  no  sooner  was 
she  at  rest  than  the  sleep  which  had  been  weigh- 
ing upon  her  vanished  and  she  was  wide 
awake.  For  a  few"  minutes  there  were  little 
sounds  about  her  —  Monsieur  Randoulet  moving 
in  his  alcove,  Janetoun  settling  herself  in  her  chair 
—  then  all  was  silent  save  their  regular  breathing 
telling  that  they  slept.  The  church  clock  struck 
the  hour.  From  the  street  came  a  faint  sound 
of  footsteps.  Then,  for  a  long  while,  silence. 
As  she  grew  used  to  the  very  faint  light  she 
could  see  dimly  the  white  curtains  of  the  alcove, 
and  then  the  shadowy  figure  of  Janetoun  asleep 
in  her  chair.  Ten  o'clock  struck  —  eleven  —  mid- 
night! "Oh  heavens,"  said  the  poor  child  to 
herself,  "shall  I  never  fall  asleep!  " 

She  tried  not  to  think  —  but  thoughts  went 
racing  through  her  mind:  of  Lazuli  and  Clairet 
and  Caritous  and  old  Joy;  of  Calisto  and  Surto 
and  La  Jacarasse  —  setting  her  to  shivering  with 
fright;  and  then  came  a  sweet  vision  of  herself 
and  Pascalet  —  Pascalet  come  back  from  the  wars 
and  living  with  her  in  the  Chateau  de  la  Garde. 
This  comforting  vision  brought  to  her  mind  her 
visit  that  afternoon  to  Pascalet's  mother,  and 
she  remembered  the  nut  that  La  Patine  had 
given  her.  Slipping  her  hand  gently  into  the 
pocket  of  her  jacket  she  found  the  nut  and 
brought  it  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it.  It  made 
company  for  her;  it  soothed  her;  at  last  she 
felt  herself  dropping  away  into  sleep. 


*• 
CHAPTER  IX 

STRANGE    FLITTINGS    IN   THE   NIGHT 

SUDDENLY  Adeline  was  wide  awake  again — 
startled  by  hearing  Monsieur  Randoulet  moving 
in  his  alcove.  A  moment  later  she  heard  Jane- 
toun  moving  also;  and  dimly  saw  the  old 
woman  rising  from  her  chair,  stretching  herself, 
and  then  tying  up  her  petticoat  and  setting  her 
cap  straight  as  though  morning  had  come. 
But  Adeline  knew  that  morning  had  not  come. 
Only  a  little  while  before  she  had  heard  the 
clock  strike  twelve.  What  could  it  mean  ?  she 
wondered.  But  she  did  not  speak  nor  move: 

In  a  few  minutes  Monsieur  Randoulet  came 
out  from  his  alcove  dressed — but  dressed  in  so 
extraordinary  a  costume  that  Adeline  said  to 
herself:  "I  am  not  seeing  straight  because  of 
the  darkness — or  else  it  is  a  dream ! ''  For  the 
good  Cure,  instead  of  wearing  his  coat  and  his 
neat  knee-breeches,  was  dressed  in  woman's 
clothes!  He  took  a  big  staff  from  the  corner, 
and  Janetoun  threw  a  shawl  over  his  shoulders; 
and  then  the  two,  without  speaking,  tip-toed  to 
the  door,  opened  it  softly,  and  as  softly  closed  it 
behind  them.  She  heard  them  creeping  down 
the  stair;  heard  the  outer  door  very  softly  opened 
and  closed  again;  and  then  all  was  still!  With 
a  little  gasp,  she  drew  the  covers  over  her  head 

93 


94 


and  lay  trembling  —  full  of  fear  at  finding  herself 
thus  strangely  alone. 

"  Where  can  they  have  gone  ?  "  she  thought. 
"  No  one  came  for  them.  No  one  called.  And 
why  was  he  dressed  as  a  woman  ?  What  was 
the  big  stick  for  ?  Are  they  leaving  me  ?  Do 
they  want  to  forsake  me  ?  Oh,  no,  no  —  that  is 
not  possible!  Had  they  been  like  that,  Lazuli 
would  not  have  left  me  with  them.  And 
Monsieur  Randoulet  is  a  very  saint  —  he  never 
would  let  me  come  to  harm  !  And  yet  - 
And  then  the  poor  child  cried  out  in  the  dark- 
ness: "O  God,  have  mercy  on  me!"  and  fell 
to  shaking  again  with  fear. 

The  clock  struck  one  —  then,  an  age  later, 
two.  The  hours  seemed  interminable.  From 
time  to  time  she  pushed  the  covers  from  about 
her  head  to  see  if  day  were  coming  —  and  drew 
them  up  again  quickly  that  she  might  shut  away 
the  darkness  from  her  eyes.  She  tried  to  think 
out  what  she  should  do  should  daylight  come 
and  find  her  still  forsaken.  But  she  could  come 
to  no  conclusion.  At  first  she  planned  to  go  to 
La  Patine  —  telling  about  the  friendship  that  was 
between  herself  and  Pascalet,  and  for  Pascalet's 
sake  asking  shelter.  But  that  project  had  to  be 
given  up  when  she  remembered  how  poor  they 
were,  La  Patine  and  Pascal;  how,  no  matter 
how  hard  she  worked,  she  still  would  be  a 
burden  upon  them.  Then  the  better  thought 
came  to  her  that  she  would  go  to  Malaucene,  to 
Lazuli  and  Joy.  It  was  not  so  very  far,  she  re- 
flected. She  could  walk  there  in  a  day  ;  or,  at 
most,  in  a  day  and  a  night.  Her  only  dread  was 
that  she  might  lose  her  way  —  and  she  tried  to 


Strange  .f linings  in  tljc  Mgl)t         95 


remember  all  that  she  had  heard  Lazuli  say  and 
had  heard  Caritous  say  about  the  road. 

And  then,  suddenly,  as  she  lay  thinking,  she 
heard  in  the  intense  silence  the  very  gentle  open- 
ing of  the  outer  door.  Footsteps  sounded  on 
the  stairs — so  mingled  with  the  thumping  of  her 
own  heart  that  a  whole  crowd  of  people  seemed 
to  be  ascending.  Her  head  went  under  the  cov- 
ers again  as  the  door  of  the  room  opened,  and 
she  lay  rigid.  In  another  instant  she  heard  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  say  in  a  very  low  voice:  "  The 
child  never  has  wakened  at'all!  "  And  to  this 
]anetoun  answered  in  a  gruff  whisper:  "Young 
folks  sleep  like  logs." 

Adeline's  fear  was  gone,  but  her  wonder 
remained.  Since  their  belief  that  she  was  asleep 
seemed  to  be  a  relief  to  them,  she  did  not  speak ; 
but  her  mind  was  employed  busily  in  trying  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  their  night-time  flitting  and 
of  Monsieur  Randoulet's  strange  disguise.  Try 
as  she  might,  she  could  make  neither  head 
nor  tail  of  it  all;  and  while  she  racked  her 
brain  over  these  strange  doings  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet quietly  went  back  to  his  alcove  again, 
and  Janetoun  settled  herself  again  in  her  chair. 
To  Adeline's  simple  and  straightforward  mind 
the  thought  did  not  occur  that  good  deeds 
sometimes  must  be  done  in  deep  secrecy:  and 
because  what  she  had  seen  was  so  unaccount- 
able a  flock  of  evil  suspicions  assailed  her  which 
she  could  not  drive  away — though  she  grew 
angry  with  herself  because  she  harboured  them. 

Then,  in  the  silence,  she  heard  Monsieur 
Randoulet  moving  in  his  bed  as  one  who  can- 
not sleep,  and  presently  heard  him  murmuring 


96  Stye  tOl)ite  (terror 

very  softly:  "Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven, 
hallowed  be  Thy  name — "  and  so  onward  to 
the  end  of  that  first  and  all-inclusive  Christian 
prayer.  That  sufficed  to  still  all  her  doubts  and 
to  give  her  peace.  With  a  long  sigh,  her  tense 
mind  and  rigid  body  relaxed  and  a  holy  calm 
came  into  and  possessed  her  heart.  Her  weari- 
ness asserted  itself.  In  another  moment,  smiling 
at  the  angels,  she  fell  into  a  deep  sweet  sleep. 

When  she  awoke,  broad  daylight  had  come 
and  Janetoun  was  at  work  setting  the  house  in 
order  for  the  day.  Through  her  half-opened 
eyes  she  saw  Monsieur  Randoulet  sitting  at  the 
open  window  reading  his  breviary.  From  out- 
side came  a  great  chirping  and  twittering  from 
a  swallow's  nest  under  the  eaves — where  a  brood 
of  little  swallows,  almost  fledged,  were  getting 
their  breakfasts.  What  with  the  going  and 
coming  of  the  father  and  mother,  and  the  talk 
of  all  the  family,  it  seemed  as  though  she  were 
hearing  the  clatter  of  a  whole  town  of  birds. 
Only  the  sturdy  sleep  of  youth  and  innocence 
could  have  gone  on  amidst  such  noises,  and  the 
noises  that  Janetoun  was  making  too.  All  the 
doubts  and  terrors  of  the  night  were  forgotten 
as  Adeline  looked  upon  the  Cure's  kind  good 
face,  and  heard  his  kindly  greeting  when  he  saw 
that  she  was  awake  at  last,  and  had  his  morning 
blessing  before  Janetoun  gave  her  her  morning 
meal. 

The  day  passed  quietly.  They  remained  in 
the  house  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  M. 
Randoulet  took  her  for  a  walk.  Again  they 
passed  by  the  hut  of  La  Patine,  and  again  La 
Patine  was  sorely  disappointed  because  they 


Strange  ^littings  in  the  2Cigl)t         97 

would  not  stop  and  give  her  a  chance  to  wag 
her  tongue  with  them — and  was  only  partly 
consoled  by  the  promise  that  they  would  come 
and  pay  her  a  good  long  visit  soon.  Returning, 
they  had  their  supper  of  soup  and  bread ;  and 
when  Janetoun  had  settled  matters  for  the  night 
they  disposed  themselves  as  before:  Adeline  on 
her  mattress,  Monsieur  Randoulet  in  his  alcove, 
and  Janetoun  in  her  chair. 

Adeline  fell  asleep,  but  with  a  haunting 
memory  of  the  strange,  doings  of  the  previous 
night  that  disposed  her  to  waken  easily.  When 
she  had  been  asleep  for  some  hours,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  her  wakening  came.  Again  she  heard 
Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Janetoun  stirring; 
again  dimly  saw  the  Cure  emerge  from  his 
alcove  in  woman's  dress  with  his  big  staff  in 
his  hand;  again  saw  Janetoun  throw  the  shawl 
over  his  shoulders ;  and  again  saw  them  softly 
steal  away  together  into  the  night.  A  shiver 
of  fear  ran  through  her  because  of  the  strange- 
ness of  it  all ;  but  she  was  sure  that  they  would 
come  back  to  her,  and  so  escaped  the  agony  of 
dread  which  had  racked  her  the  night  before. 
With  a  little  prayer  now  and  then,  that  soothed 
and  comforted  her,  she  waited  through  the 
hours  of  their  absence;  and  fell  asleep  calmly 
when  at  last  they  returned.  Again  she  slum- 
bered until  Janetoun  and  the  swallows  waked 
her,  long  after  broad  day  had  come;  and  again, 
as  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  saw  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet seated  at  the  window  reading  his  breviary 
— the  swallows  whirling  outside  in  the  sun- 
shine making  a  flashing  of  light  that  seemed 
like  a  halo  about  the  holy  man's  head. 


98  (£Ije   toljite   (terror 

So  the  days  went  by  peacefully,  and  the 
nights  strangely,  until  near  a  month  had  passed. 
Adeline  grew  accustomed  to  Monsieur  Randou- 
let's  and  Janetoun's  night-flittings,  and  while 
she  did  not  cease  to  wonder  about  them  they 
no  longer  caused  her  anxiety  or  fear.  One 
regret  she  had,  and  mat  was  a  keen  one :  that 
the  Cure  did  not  take  her  to  pay  the  promised 
visit  to  La  Patine — whose  gentle-heartedness 
made  her  think  of  Lazuli,  and  with  whom  she 
longed  to  talk  about  Pascalet.  But  she  did  not 
venture  to  ask  that  this  visit  which  she  so 
yearned  for  might  be  paid. 

One  night  their  ordinary  routine  was  broken 
in  upon.  After  they  had  prayed  together,  as 
usual,  Monsieur  Randoulet  paused  before  going 
into  his  alcove  and  said  to  Adeline:  "  My  child, 
almost  a  month  has  passed  since  you  came  here, 
and  in  all  that  time  you  have  not  heard  the  holy 
mass.  To-morrow  will  be  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady 
of  August,  and  you  shall  go  with  me  to  the 
service  that  I  shall  hold.  Now  sleep  soon,  and 
soundly,  for  your  sleep  must  be  short." 

This  promise  so  delighted  Adeline  that  she 
skipped  for  gladness  like  a  little  kid.  "Oh 
thank  you,  Monsieur,"  she  exclaimed  ;  and  she 
would  have  gone  on  eagerly  to  ask  questions 
had  not  Monsieur  Randoulet  retired  into  his 
alcove,  and  had  not  Janetoun  promptly  put  out 
the  light.  Her  excitement  kept  her  from  obey- 
ing the  Cure's  injunction  to  go  to  sleep  quickly; 
and  at  midnight  she  waked  of  her  own  accord 
— as  she  did  usually  when  the  others  arose  to 
go  upon  their  mysterious  expeditions.  But,  as 
usual,  she  lay  silent.  Presently  she  dimly  saw 


Strange  .flittinge  in  tl)c  Xigl)t         99 

Monsieur  Randoulet  come  out  from  his  alcove, 
but  wearing  his  own  priestly  dress — not 
woman's  clothes.  And  then  her  shoulder  was 
grasped  and  she  was  shaken  roughly,  and  a 
rough  voice  said:  "Come  now,  get  up  at 
once!  " 

Adeline  jumped  up  with  a  scream ;  and  then, 
recognising  Janetoun's  voice,  but  still  startled, 
asked  fearfully:  "What  is  it?  What  is  the 
matter?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  frighten  you,  my 
child,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  said  gently.  "But 
you  must  get  up  now  and  come  with  us.  Don't 
you  remember  what  1  told  you  before  you  went 
to  sleep  ?  We  are  going  to  the  holy  mass  of 
our  Lady  of  August.  Get  up,  my  child." 

Being  thus  reassured,  and  fully  awake,  Ade- 
line hurriedly  began  to  put  on  her  jacket.  But 
Monsieur  Randoulet  stopped  her.  "No,"  he 
said,  "you  need  not  be  dressed  as  a  boy  to- 
night. Put  on  your  frock.  It  will  be  safe.  We 
shall  be  back  again  before  dawn." 

"At  this  rate,  we'll  never  get  off  at  all!" 
Janetoun  grumbled,  as  she  went  to  the  chest  to 
bring  out  Adeline's  bundle.  But  with  the  old 
woman's  help — while  Monsieur  Randoulet  knelt 
in  the  alcove,  reciting  his  credo  and  saying  his 
morning  prayer — the  young  girl  slipped  so 
quickly  into  her  frock  that  she  was  ready  when 
the  Cure  rose  from  his  knees. 

Together  they  went  out  softly  into  the  star- 
lit night;  groping  their  way  through  the  narrow 
streets — dark  as  pockets — but  easily  making  out 
their  path  by  the  star-shine  when  they  had  come 
out  upon  the  open  country-side.  Adeline  did 


tDI)ite  terror 


not  venture  for  some  time  to  ask  any  questions, 
but  in  her  heart  she  wondered  greatly  where 
they  could  be  going:  for  she  knew  that  outside 
of  the  village  there  was  not  even  a  chapel,  still 
less  a  church,  for  miles  and  miles.  This  puzzle 
held  by  her  as  they  went  onward,  silently, 
through  the  quiet  fields.  The  roadside  crickets 
chirped  at  a  great  rate.  Off  in  the  valleys  night- 
ingales were  singing.  Now  and  then  from  a 
farmhouse  came  the  barking  of  a  dog.  Once 
they  heard  the  dismal  hooting  of  an  owl.  At 
last,  when  they  turned  from  the  broad  path  that 
they  had  been  following  into  a  narrow  rough 
way  leading  up  the  hillside  of  the  Castelnau, 
her  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her  discretion. 
"  Is  the  church  far  off?"  she  asked. 

"No  talking!"  Janetoun  said  in  a  cross 
whisper. 

"  We'll  soon  be  there  now,  my  child,"  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  answered,  speaking  in  a  very 
low  tone. 

Up  the  steep  ascent  they  went  in  single  file, 
the  Cure  leading  and  Janetoun  in  the  rear,  be- 
tween thickets  of  thorny  dwarf-oaks  and  tufts 
of  flowery  broom.  The  higher  that  they  mount- 
ed the  narrower  became  the  path,  and  the 
thicker  the  tangle  through  which  it  ran.  At 
last  it  stopped  short,  in  front  of  a  clump  of 
bushes  overgrowing  a  long-ruined  and  forgotten 
sheep-fold.  The  roof  covering  one  end  of  the 
ruin  still  remained.  This  was  the  church! 

In  the  sheltered  corner,  on  the  stone  where 
of  old  the  shepherds  had  spread  salt  for  their 
sheep,  a  candle  was  burning,  and  before  this 
improvised  altar  knelt  a  group  of  peasants,  more 


Strange  Sittings  in 


women  than  men,  waiting  for  the  mass  to  be- 
gin. As  Monsieur  Randoulet  entered  the  ruin 
one  of  the  women  arose,  and  from  a  basket 
brought  out  a  bottle  of  wine,  a  slice  of  white 
bread,  and  a  tall  glass  goblet.  These  she  placed 
upon  the  altar.  And  then,  with  old  Janetoun 
serving  as  his  clerk,  the  good  Cure  said  the 
mass  of  our  Lady  of  August  in  the  midst  of  that 
little  flock  of  faithful  ones,  before  that  strange 
altar  around  which  through  the  centuries  flocks 
of  another  sort  had  gatKered  to  receive  their  dole 
of  salt. 

Quickly,  but  with  all  reverence,  the  service 
was  concluded;  and  when  it  was  ended  the 
candle  was  extinguished  and  the  little  congre- 
gation vanished  away  silently  into  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  Back  again  down  the  narrow 
path,  and  thence  through  the  fields  and  the 
olive  orchards,  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline 
and  Janetoun  returned  to  Malemort.  Far  off 
over  the  mountain  tops  the  pale  light  of  dawn 
was  glimmering  as  they  entered  safely  their  poor 
little  home. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   VISIT   TO   PASCAL    AND   LA    PATINE 

BEFORE  she  lay  down  to  rest,  in  the  grey 
dawn,  Monsieur  Randoulet  told  Adeline  that  he 
would  take  her  that  day  to  pay  the  visit  to  La 
Patine  to  which  she  had  been  looking  forward 
so  eagerly ;  and  this  delightful  promise,  and  the 
excitement  following  her  strange  night,  kept 
sleep  from  her  eyes.  But  she  was  not  weary. 
The  thought  of  a  long  visit  to  Pascalet's  mother, 
and  of  the  talk  that  they  surely  would  have  to- 
gether about  Pascalet,  gave  her  sweet  rest 
through  the  exquisite  solace  that  filled  her  heart. 

She  lay  quite  still  upon  her  little  bed, 
watching  the  window  brightening  in  the  dawn. 
Presently  the  swallows  woke  up,  and  she  heard 
their  drowsy  twitterings,  then  she  saw  the 
old  birds  fly  away,  foraging  for  a  breakfast  for 
their  little  ones,  as  the  first  sun-ray  fell  upon 
their  nest  beneath  the  eaves.  Because  of  the 
loving  thoughts  that  filled  her  heart,  making 
peace  and  happiness  there,  her  love  went  out 
to  those  happy  little  birds. 

As  the  daylight  filled  the  room  she  saw  a 
big  bundle  upon  the  table  wrapped  up  in  Jane- 
toun's  apron,  and  fell  to  wondering  what  it  was. 
Then  she  remembered  that  Janetoun  had  gone 
about  among  the  little  congregation  the  night 


®l)c  bisit  to  Pascal  anb  £a  Ratine    103 


before,  while  the  last  prayer  was  being  said,  as 
though  making  stfme  sort  of  a  collection.  What 
she  had  collected  no  doubt  was  in  the  apron, 
Adeline  thought — but  that  did  not  explain  what 
was  there. 

In  a  moment  or  two  her  curiosity  was  satis- 
fled.  When  the  swallows  began  to  twitter,  but 
before  the  noise  they  made  had  aroused  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet,  Janetoun  stirred  in  her  chair, 
stretched  herself  a  little,  sat  up  slowly — and 
then  went  quickly  to  the  table  and  untied  her 
apron.  That  Adeline  should  be  awake,  and 
watching  her,  evidently  did  not  cross  her  mind. 
The  bundle  being  opened,  Adeline  saw  a  little 
heap  of  vegetables,  a  great  loaf  of  white  bread, 
a  melon,  and  a  bottle  of  wine.  These  the  old 
woman  took  hurriedly  to  the  cupboard  and 
there  stowed  away.  "She  moved  very  softly, 
but  not  so  softly  but  that  Monsieur  Randoulet 
was  aroused.  Looking  out  between  the  cur- 
tains he  saw  what  she  was  doing,  and  said 
sharply:  "Janetoun,  you  have  been  levying 
tribute  upon  my  poor  people  again.  I  have  told 
you  that  you  must  not  do  that." 

Janetoun  was  disconcerted  by  the  Cure's 
discovery,  but  answered  crossly:  "  It's  all  very 
well  for  you  to  give  your  orders.  But  it  is  I, 
not  you,  who  must  keep  the  pot  boiling." 

"  I  have  told  you,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  re- 
peated, "that  you  must  ask  nothing  from  these 
poor  people." 

"  Poor  people,  indeed!  "Janetoun  grumbled. 
"  And  what  are  you  ?  Can  anybody  be  poorer 
than  you  are  now  ?  Anyway,  I  a>n't  make  you 
soup  out  of  stones!  " 


104  ®be  tOliitc  terror 

Giving  up  the  argument,  Monsieur  Randoulet 
arose  and  came  to  his  seat  beside  the  window 
and  betook  himself  to  his  breviary — while  be- 
hind him  the  swallows  flew  back  and  forth, 
casting  flying  shadows  upon  his  open  book.  In 
silence  Janetoun  went  on  with  her  morning 
work. 

Soon,  when  the  morning  meal  was  finished, 
the  Cure  and  Adeline  set  off  for  the  hut  of  La 
Garde;  taking  with  them  some  of  the  tribute 
that  Janetoun  had  levied,  stowed  in  a  leather 
wallet,  to  serve  for  their  midday  meal. 

Adeline  was  filled  with  happiness,  for  it 
seemed  to  her  that  this  visit  to  Pascalet's  mother 
was  almost  the  same  thing  as  a  visit  to  Pascalet 
himself.  And  her  heart  was  still  more  glad- 
dened because  she  was  carrying  a  present  to  La 
Patine  that,  for  a  while  at  least,  would  make 
her  life  and  old  Pascal's  life  easier.  From  the 
moment  that  the  visit  was  planned,  the  child 
had  cast  about  in  her  mind  for  some  way  of 
helping  these  poor  people  who  had  only  black 
bread  'to  live  upon,  and  not  enough  even  of 
that;  and  the  good  thought  had  occurred  to  her 
that  she  would  give  them  her  precious  three 
crowns.  After  all,  they  were  Pascalet's  three 
crowns:  and  who  could  have  a  better  right  to 
them  than  his  own  father  and  mother  ?  There- 
fore she  hid  her  little  treasure  in  the  pocket  of 
her  jacket  and  set  forth  with  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet joyfully :  glad  because  of  the  happy  day 
that  was  before  her,  and  glad  because  of  the 
good  that  she  could  do  to  these  poor  people 
whom  she  loved. 

Remembering    the    old    times,    it    seemed 


<£l)c  tlisit  to  JJascnl  anb  £a  JJatitte    105 

strange  to  her,  ds  they  went  upon  their  way, 
that  nowhere  were  there  any  signs  that  this 
great  feast  day — the  Feast  of  Our  Lady  of  August 
— was  being  observed!  No  bells  were  ringing. 
The  church  was  closed.  Instead  of  clustering  in 
the  village  in  holiday  dress,  the  people  were  at 
work  as  usual.  As  they  passed  through  the 
fields  the  harvesting  was  going  on.  At  the 
threshing  floors  the  men  were  swinging  their 
flails  and  the  women  were  winnowing  the  grain. 
But  Monsieur  Randoulet  was  too  broad-minded 
to  take  offence  at  an  infraction  of  the  merely 
human  commandments  of  the  church.  As  they 
passed  the  groups  of  workers  he  had  kindly 
words  for  all  of  them,  and  asked  with  interest 
how  the  harvest  was  coming  on.  The  answers 
to  his  greetings  and  to  his  questions  also  were 
kindly.  But  Adeline  had  another  shock  in  hear- 
ing them  address  him  as  "Citizen  Randoulet" 
— for  the  phrase  "Monsieur  le  Cure"  had  no 
place  in  those  strange  new  times. 

What  talk  took  place  was  no  more  than  the 
interchange  of  greetings,  and  of  questions  and 
answers,  as  they  walked  on  rapidly.  Monsieur 
Randoulet  did  not  wish  to  seem  to  be  hiding 
Adeline;  but  neither  did  he  wish  the  villagers 
to  come  to  close  quarters  with  her.  The  risk  of 
her  being  recognised,  in  her  boy's  dress,  was 
not  great;  but  still  it  was  a  risk  that  had  to  be 
guarded  against.  Naturally,  there  had  been  a 
good  deal  of  talk  as  to  who  this  boy  could  be 
whom  Citizen  Randoulet  had  picked  up.  Some 
said  that  he  was  an  emigre's  son ;  others  said 
that  he  was  a  bastard  of  the  Avignon  Legate. 
But  as  no  one  knew  anything  certainly,  and  as 


106  ®|)c  tiOljite  terror 

the  people  of  Malemort  for  the  most  part  were 
well-disposed  toward  their  late  Cure,  they  were 
content — as  we  say  here  in  Provence — to  let  the 
water  run. 

Having  left  the  grain  fields  and  entered  the 
olive  orchards,  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline 
met  no  one  until  they  were  come  to  the  hut  of 
La  Garde — where  they  found  Pascal  and  La  Pa- 
tine  hard  at  work  threshing  out  the  little  harvest 
of  wheat  that  they  had  gleaned.  Very  meagre 
was  their  harvest,  poor  souls !  But,  such  as  it 
was,  they  were  beating  out  the  grain — threshing 
is  too  large  a  word  for  what  they  were  doing — 
on  a  broad  flat  stone:  Pascal  with  a  stick,  La 
Patine  with  one  of  her  sabots,  and  it  was  pitiful 
to  see  how  careful  they  were  to  pick  up  each 
single  grain  that  happened  to  fall  from  their  little 
threshing-floor  to  the  ground !  A  whole  tragedy 
of  starvation  was  told  in  their  eagerness  to  save 
each  tiny  scrap  of  food! 

La  Patine,  who  was  not  a  dull  woman,  un- 
derstood the  meaning  of  the  sorrowful  smile 
on  Monsieur  Randoulet's  face  as  he  watched 
them,  and  was  grateful  for  it.  "We  must  be 
careful,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  she  said.  "We 
poor  people  cannot  afford*  to  let  even  a  grain 
be  lost." 

"  But  it  makes  me  sad,  La  Patine,  to  see  you 
going  down  on  your  knees  and  searching  for 
those  single  grains  when  I  think  of  the  many 
great  granaries  which  are  heaping  full." 

"  Well,  after  all,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  those  great 
granaries  are  all  filled  with  many  single  grains. 
They  must  be  gathered  and  saved,  one  at  a  time. 
And  my  old  grandmother — God  rest  her  soul! — 


t)isit  to  JJascal  an&  £a  JJatine    107 


used  to  say  that  one  grain  of  wheat  was  worth 
more  than  a  whole  loaf  of  bread,  than  very  many 
loaves  of  bread,  and  that  to  waste  it  was  a  sin  : 
because  when  you  had  eaten  the  bread  that  was 
the  end  of  it;  but  from  the  wheat  grain  you 
could  grow  a  spear  of  wheat,  and  from  the  spear 
a  sheaf,  and  from  the  sheaf  a  shock  —  and  so  on 
until  you  grew  enough  to  feed  the  whole  world 
until  the  heavens  fall." 

"You  are  right,  La  Ratine.  Who  throws  a 
handful  of  wheat  into  the  fire  is  more  of  a  spend- 
thrift than  one  who  throws  a  handful  of  gold 
into  the  sea!  " 

"And  my  grandmother  used  to  tell  me, 
Monsieur,"  La  Ratine  went  on,  "that  in  the  old 
times  the  spears  of  wheat  were  much  fuller  and 
much  longer  than  they  are  now.  Why,  she  said 
that  in  the  old  times,  in  the  very  old  times,  the 
spears  were  the  length  of  the  whole  blade  —  and 
a  strange  story  she  had  to  tell  about  the  way  in 
which  they  became  small!  " 

While  Monsieur  Randoulet  only  smiled  at 
La  Ratine's  simplicity,  Adeline  —  always  eager  to 
hear  a  story  —  broke  in  with:  "And  what  was 
it  that  made  the  spears  of  wheat  become  small, 
La  Ratine?" 

"Well,  I  only  know  what  my  old  grand- 
mother told  me  about  it,  and  what  she  told  was 
this:  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  woman 
who  went  with  her  husband  to  gather  in  their 
crops.  They  had  a  field  of  wheat  as  red  as  gold, 
and  every  blade  was  covered  thick  with  grain 
from  the  top  to  the  very  ground.  The  woman 
had  brought  her  baby  with  her,  and  she  laid 
him  on  a  woolen  cloth  in  a  nice  shady  place 
8 


io8  ®l)e  toljite  terror 

under  an  olive  tree,  while  she  followed  her  hus- 
band with  his  sickle,  and  bound  up  the  sheaves. 
After  a  while  the  baby  began  to  cry,  and  the 
woman  went  to  him — thinking  that  he  was  cry- 
ing because  he  was  hungry.  But  the  baby 
was  crying  because  he  had  soiled  himself  and 
the  woolen  cloth  on  which  he  lay.  And  what 
do  you  think  that  spendthrift  woman  did  ?  She 
stripped  one  of  the  long  beautiful  blades  from  its 
root  in  the  ground  to  within  a  handbreadth  of 
its  top,  and  used  the  blessed  bearded  grains  as  a 
brush  to  make  things  clean  again.  Now  it  hap- 
pened that  the  good  God  was  passing  that  way 
just  then ;  and  when  he  saw  what  the  woman 
was  doing  he  scolded  her  well  for  her  wicked 
wastefulness.  And  then  the  woman — who 
didn't  know  that  it  was  the  good  God  who  was 
scolding  her — told  him  shortly  to  mind  his  own 
business  and  she  would  mind  hers.  And  the 
good  God  said  no  more  to  her  and  passed  on. 
But  the  next  year,  when  the  wheat  grew  again, 
it  grew  no  more  along  the  whole  length  of  the 
blade.  Only  so  much  grew  at  the  top  of  the 
blade,  a  mere  hand-breadth,  as  the  woman  had 
left  there — as  it  has  grown  ever  since,  and  as  it 
grows  now.  And  then  there  was  a  famine  in 
the  land,  the  first  famine  that  ever  was  known ; 
and  from  that  time  onward  there  never  has  been 
wheat  enough  in  the  world  for  all  the  hungry 
mouths.  For  the  good  God  does  not  forget,  and 
in  that  way  he  punished  that  wasteful  woman 
for  her  sin !  " 

La  Ratine  was  interested  in  her  own  story,  but 
she  was  still  more  interested  in  Adeline's  face — 
and  she  was  cudgelling  her  brains  to  find  out 


t)isit  to  pascal  anb  £a  flatine     109 


where  she  had  seen  this  boy,  and  where  she 
had  heard  his  familiar  voice.  But  she  could 
make  nothing  of  it  all,  and  was  beginning  to 
think  that  she  would  venture  on  a  plain  ques- 
tion —  when  another  matter  intervened  that 
diverted  her  thoughts. 

Adeline  also  had  given  to  the  curious  folk- 
story  a  divided  interest.  While  listening  to  it 
she  had  been  gazing  very  intently  at  the  lower 
slope  of  the  hill  below  La  Garde.  Her  look 
grew  more  and  more  Anxious,  and  just  as  the 
story  ended  she  went  pale  suddenly  and  cried 
out:  "  The  gendarmes!  The  gendarmes!  " 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet.  "There  is  nothing  to  bring  the  gen- 
darmes here.  You  must  be  mistaken,  child!" 
But  he  rose  hurriedly,  and  with  a  troubled 
face  looked  in  the  direction  toward  which  Adeline 
pointed. 

La  Patine  and  Pascal  went  on  quietly  with 
their  work.  "I  never  have  seen  a  gendarme 
about  here  yet,"  said  La  Patine;  and  added: 
"  Robbers  don't  come  prowling  around  the 
houses  of  the  poor." 

"No,  I  am  not  mistaken,  Monsieur,"  Ade- 
line answered.  "  Look  where  1  am  pointing. 
Look  carefully.  Do  you  see  that  olive-tree  — 
that  one  higher  than  the  rest,  near  the  wall  ? 
Well,  the  gendarme  1  saw  is  on  the  path  that 
comes  out  beside  that  tree.  You  will  see  him 
in  a  moment,  now.  There!  There  he  comes! 
Look!" 

"Yes,  yes.  I  see  him!"  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  said  excitedly.  And  then  added,  in  a 
much  calmer  tone:  "  But  he  is  not  a  gendarme, 


QTmor 


my  child,  and  we  have  nothing  to  fear.  He  is 
a  soldier — not  a  National  Guard,  though;  and 
not  wearing  a  uniform  that  I  know  at  all." 

"  A  soldier!  "  cried  La  Patine,  starting  to  her 
feet.  "A soldier!  And  coming  here!  It's  my 
Pascalet!  It's  my  own  Pascalet  come  home 
from  the  wars! " 

At  this  old  Pascal  also  jumped  up.  But 
when  he  had  taken  a  look  at  the  oncoming 
soldier  he  said  in  tones  of  conviction:  "No, 
that's  not  our  boy.  He's  too  tall.  And  he 
hasn't  our  boy's  walk." 

"Pedasa!"  exclaimed  La  Patine.  "He's 
been  growing  since  he  went  away." 

"Oh,  if  it  were  Pascalet!  "  cried  Adeline. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  he  has  only  one  arm," 
said  Monsieur  Randoulet.  "  Yes,  1  am  sure  he 
has  only  one  arm.  And  I  think  he  has  a  band- 
age about  his  head,  too." 

Adeline  saw  that  Monsieur  Randoulet  was 
right,  and  gave  a  gasp  that  was  almost  a  sob  ; 
while  La  Patine  burst  out:  "Oh  Mother  of 
Heaven !  My  boy  to  come  back  to  me  with  only 
one  arm !  "  And  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"I  tell  you  it  isn't  our  boy,"  old  Pascal  said 
with  energy.  "  Look  at  him  for  yourself." 

The  man,  coming  onward  at  a  good  pace, 
had  drawn  close  enough  for  them  to  see  him 
plainly.  La  Patine  took  her  head  out  of  her 
hands  for  another  look  and  exclaimed:  "God 
be  praised !  Look  at  the  big  beard  of  him !  It 
isn't  my  Pascalet  at  all!  "  And  Adeline  gave  a 
long  thankful  sigh. 

Then  they  waited  in  silence  while  the  man 
came  on. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BRAVE  MARGAN 

"  GREETING  to  you!  "  said  the  soldier  as  he 
joined  them.  "  Fraternity — or  Death!  " 

For  all  that  he  had  a  pock-marked  face  like 
a  honey-comb,  he  was  a  fine-looking  fellow, 
well  set  up  and  strong.  He  wore  a  cocked  hat, 
a  green  uniform  turned  up  with  red,  and  white 
gaiters.  His  right  sleeve  hung  empty,  and 
under  his  cocked  hat  was  a  bandage  across  one 
eye.  A  soldier  he  looked,  every  inch  of  him — 
but  a  soldier  who  never  would  fight  again ! 

"  I  think  you  must  have  mistaken  your 
way,  friend,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  said  when 
they  all  had  answered  his  greeting.  "  The  path 
that  you  are  on  leads  nowhere.  This  is  the 
end  of  it." 

"  Mistaken  my  way,  Citizen  ?  Not  a  bit  of 
it!  Isn't  this  the  hut  of  La  Garde?  " 

"Why  of  course  it  is,"  La  Ratine  answered. 

"  And  perhaps  you're  La  Ratine  ?  " 

"  You've  said  it." 

"  And  this  is  your  good  man  ?  " 

"That's  my  Pascal." 

"Well  then,  my  marching  orders  were 
right,  and  so  am  I.  And  now  for  the  other 
side.  I  am  Margan  of  Marseilles — your  son's 
comrade.  He  and  I  went  up  to  Paris  together 


tD bite  terror 


in  the  Marseilles  Battalion ;  and  then  we  went 
off  together  to  fight  foreigners  in  Holland — a 
God-forgotten  country  in  the  north,  where 
there's  snow  all  the  year  round.  And  here  am 
I,  now,  come  to  give  you  news  of  how  your 
youngster's  getting  on." 

"  He's  not  dead,  then!  "  cried  La  Ratine. 

"Dead!  Well,  1  should  say  he  wasn't!  He's 
as  bright  as  a  sword-blade  and  as  lively  as  an 
eel!" 

"But  why  didn't  he  come?  Oh,  my  little 
Pascalet,  I'll  never  see  you  again !  "  and  La  Ratine 
broke  forth  into  sobs. 

"Sit  down,  good  soldier,"  said  Pascal,  "and 
tell  us  what  you  have  to  tell  about  our  boy." 

"  But  first  you  must  have  some  refreshment, " 
put  in  Monsieur  Randoulet.  "A  cool  drink 
will  comfort  you  after  your  hot  walk." 

"Pecaire!"  exclaimed  La  Patine.  "I've 
nothing  to  give  you  but  water! " 

"  But  we  have  something  better  than  water 
in  our  wallet,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  answered — 
and  as  he  spoke  he  brought  forth  the  bottle  of 
red  wine  that  Janetoun  had  captured  at  the  mass. 
In  a  moment  it  was  opened;  and  in  another 
moment  Margan  was  giving  it  a  long  kiss  that 
left  it  only  half  full! 

"Ha!  that's  something  worth  swallowing!  " 
the  soldier  said  as  he  set  down  the  bottle  and 
wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  one  re- 
maining hand.  "That's  not  like  the  slops  and 
soapsuds  we  got  to  drink  up  there  in  the  North !  " 

"  And  you've  brought  us  news  of  our  boy  ?" 
said  La  Patine  eagerly. 

"Yes,  and  fresh  news,  too.     Why,  it's  onlv 


Bt;at)e  Margcm  113 


a  month  since  I  was  talking  to  him,  nose  to 
nose,  just  as  I'm  talking  to  you  now!  We've 
been  together,  that  boy  and  1,  all  through  this 
past  year — ever  since  the  day  that  he  enlisted 
in  our  Battalion  in  Avignon.  We  went  up  to 
Paris  together,  and  we  took  King  Capet  prisoner 
together;  and  when  that  job  was  finished  we 
went  off  together  as  volunteers  to  fight  for  the 
Republic  up  in  the  north.  For  six  months  we 
fought  Austrians  and  Germans  in  that  vile  Hol- 
land. And  we'd  have  been  at  it  together  yet  if 
our  General  hadn't  turned  traitor.  It's  to  him, 
that  dirty  dog  of  a  Dumouriez,  that  1  owe  the 
loss  of  my  arm  and  my  eye!  " 

"Pecaire!  how  it  must  have  hurt!"  ex- 
claimed La  Patine.  "And  my  Pascalet — was 
he  wounded  too  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  He's  always  in  the  thick 
of  the  fighting,  and  yet  he  always  manages  to 
come  out  with  a  whole  skin.  It  looks  as  if  he 
knew  how  to  frighten  the  bullets  away !  Many 
a  time  we  fellows  have  said,  '  When  the  smoke 
clears  away  there'll  be  nothing  of  Pascalet  left 
but  scraps!' — and  then  the  smoke  would  drift 
off,  and  there  would  be  Pascalet  as  lively  as  a 
flea!  And  very  likely  a  bullet  hole  through  his 
hat,  and  his  coat  torn  by  bayonets  and  slashed 
by  swords.  Some  of  our  fellows  swear  that  he's 
bewitched!  " 

"Oh  holy  Mother  of  Heaven !  My  boy  don't 
know  what  he's  doing.  They'll  kill  him  for  me, 
sure !  What  did  he  ever  go  into  those  armies 
for — away  off  there?"  And  again  La  Patine 
began  to  sob. 

"I'd  be  glad  to  be  there  myself,  all  the  same," 


n4  ®l)£  &l)ite  ffterror 

said  Margan.  "If  I'd  only  lost  my  eye  I'd  be 
at  it  yet.  fighting  for  the  Republic  with  the  rest 
of  them.  But  with  my  right  arm  gone,  Sarni- 
pabienne!  what  can  I  do  ?  If  it  had  been  the 
left  arm,  I'd  have  stuck  to  my  trade.  You  see, 
that  devil  of  a  cannon  ball  passed  me  on  the 
wrong  side.  And  it  went  in  a  hurry,  I  can  tell 
you!  Why,  Pascalet  said  to  me  'Your  arm's 
gone,  Margan ! '  almost  before  I  knew  it  my- 
self." 

"  But  how  did  you  and  Pascalet  get  into  the 
army  of  the  North  at  all  ?  "  asked  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet.  "  How  was  it  that  you  didn't  stay  in 
the  Marseilles  Battalion,  and  come  home  with 
it  when  it  Came  home  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  was  just  a  sudden  notion 
that  took  hold  of  us  when  our  heads  were  a  bit 
askew.  We  enlisted  on  the  very  day  that  the 
Battalion  started  for  home  again.  The  afternoon 
before  that  day,  when  we'd  got  our  marching 
orders  and  eveVything  was  settled,  some  of  us 
went  off  on  a  spree— Pascalet  and  I  and  one  or 
two  more.  We  went  it  hard — sampling  one 
dram-shop  after  another  until  we  saw  hens  with 
three  heads  everywhere!  By  the  time  that 
night  caught  us  we  were  all  tangled  up  in  the 
thick  of  Paris  and  didn't  know  which  way  to 
turn.  We  did  manage  to  get  back  to  the  bar- 
racks at  last,  somehow  or  other,  but  Pascalet 
drifted  off  from  us  and  got  lost.  We  didn't 
know  that  he  had  not  come  back  with  us  till 
the  next  morning;  indeed  we  didn't  know  till 
the  next  morning  that  we'd  got  back  ourselves. 

"Well,  the  next  morning  Vauclair  came 
hunting  for  him — it  was  Vauclair,  you  know, 


Brcttie  ittargan  115 


who  picked  him  up  in  Avignon  when  he  was 
driven  out  from  here,  and  he  loved  the  boy 
dearly.  Vauclair  gave  it  to  us  hot  for  taking 
him  off  with  us  that  way,  and  when  I  found 
what  had  come  of  it  1  felt  pretty  bad  myself—- 
and I  made  up  my  mind  that  as  I'd  helped  to 
lose  him  I  wouldn't  leave  Paris  until  I'd  found 
him  again.  And  so  I  went  off  to  hunt  for  him, 
and  I  let  the  Battalion  march  without  me  while 
I  hunted  Paris  high  and  low.  I  hunted  and  I 
hunted  without  finding. him.  Along  in  the  after- 
noon I  got  all  tired  out,  and  went  into  a  bar- 
rack that  I  happened  to  be  passing  to  sit  down 
and  rest  myself.  And  all  of  a  sudden  I  heard 
Pascalet's  voice — I  was  sure  it  was  his  voice 
singing  the  'Marseillaise.'  Round  I  turned  like 
a  flash — and,  sure  enough,  there  he  was!  The 
hugging  that  I  gave  him  was  near  to  cracking 
the  ribs  of  him;  and  then  I  found  what  he  was 
doing  there — that  he  had  joined  that  morning 
one  of  the  new  battalions  of  the  Army  of  the 
North. 

"  '  Come  right  along  back  with  me  to  where 
you  belong,'  says  I,  'and. come  home  with  the 
rest  of  us  to  Marseilles.' 

"  'No,'  says  he,  like  the  brave  patriot  that 
he  is,  '  no,  Margan,  I've  enlisted  in  the  army  of 
the  Republic,  and  if  you  dare  to  say  another 
word  about  my  deserting — you're  a  dead  man! ' 
and  he  ups  with  his  gun ! 

"'  Right  you  are,'  says  I,  'and  wrong  I  am! 
Vive  la  Revolution!  Vive  la  Republique!  In- 
stead of  my  taking  you  back  to  Marseilles,  you 
shall  take  me  off  to  fight  along  with  you  for 
Liberty!'  And  with  that  I  enlisted  in  the  same 


u6  ®|]c  tOhite  terror 


battalion — and  within  another  hour  Pascalet  and 
I  were  off  together  for  the  northern  frontier. 

"What  a  march  it  was  that  we  made  to  the 
Army  of  the  North!  In  the  early  evening  the 
brigade  of  which  we  were  a  part  got  away  from 
Paris,  Pascalet  and  I  shouting  out  the  '  Marseil- 
laise.' The  other  fellows  of  our  own  battalion 
— Parisians,  Normans,  Bretons — at  first  only 
opened  their  mouths  to  laugh  at  us.  But  it 
didn't  take  long  for  the  tune  of  our  song  to  get 
into  their  heads  and  the  fire  of  it  into  their  bones, 
and  we  all  were  roaring  it  out  together  before 
we'd  gone  half  a  league.  Through  the  darkness 
we  marched  singing;  and  when  a  thunder-storm 
came  banging  over  us — with  rain  by  the  bucket- 
ful that  drenched  us  through — we  fairly  outroared 
the  thunder  with  our  'Marseillaise'!  Not  until 
toward  morning — when  we  were  pretty  well 
dead  beat  with  wet  and  cold — did  we  call  a  halt. 
And  even  then,  chilled  and  drenched  and  hungry 
and  tired  out  though  we  were,  every  little  while 
a  hoarse  voice  would  croak: 

'  Aux  armes  citoyens!     Formez  vos  bataillons! ' 

We  made  our  halt  under  the  lea  of  a  stiff  little 
hill  close  to  the  road  side,  along  with  a  battalion 
of  Maine-and-Loire  men  who  led  us  on  the 
march.  We  all  were  wet  as  frogs  together,  and 
when  at  last  the  sun  came  up  we  all  gave  a 
shout  of  joy.  As  for  our  breakfast,  we  made  it 
mainly  on  shouting  '  Vive  la  Republique! ' — that 
really  did  seem  filling,  somehow — and  on  the  sun- 
shine that  set  our  jackets  to  smoking  and  made 
us  warm  once  more.  There  were  eighty  in  our 
battalion,  and  as  many  more  of  the  Maine-and- 


jBratic  ittargatt  117 


Loire  men,  and  for  the  lot  of  us  we  hadn't  above 
a  dozen  loaves  of  bread  all  told.  So  we  munched 
our  little  scraps  slowly,  to  make  the  most  of 
them,  and  drank  water  from  the  pools  that  were 
everywhere — but  oh  how  good  a  clove  of  garlic 
would  have  tasted  then ! 

"  While  we  waited  for  our  order  to  march 
again,  three  young  fellows  on  horseback  came 
galloping  down  on  us  along  with  a  pack  of 
hounds.  They  were  going  out  coursing,  and 
pulled  up  to  a  walk  as  they  passed  us.  '  Hello, 
draggle-tails,  where  do  you  come  from  ? '  one 
of  them  called  out  as  they  rode  by.  '  Vive  la 
Revolution ! '  we  shouted  in  answer.  '  Chicken- 
stealing  looks  to  be  your  business,'  the  fellow 
said,  and  he  and  one  of  his  comrades  struck 
spurs  in  their  horses  and  were  off  with  a  laugh. 
But  the  third,  a  handsome  lad,  pulled  up  short 
and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Off  came  his  hat 
in  a  handsome  bow  to  us,  and  '  Vive  la  Nation ! ' 
he  cried  in  a  voice  that  rang  true.  '  I'll  join  you, 
if  you'll  let  me,  comrades,'  he  cried;  and  with 
that  we  all  gave  him  a  rousing  cheer.  And  he 
did  join  us.  Our  lieutenant  enrolled  him  right 
there;  and  when  we  got  on  to  Arras  the  munici- 
pality saw  to  his  being  armed  and  equipped. 
And  he  was  only  one  of  a  good  many  who  en- 
listed with  us  as  we  went  onward — glad  of  the 
chance  to  go  along  and  fight  for  holy  Liberty. 
When  we  joined  Dumouriez  at  last  we  were 
more  than  three  thousand  strong. 

"1  never  shall  forget  our  march  up  to  the 
General's  quarters — all  of  us  storming  out  the 
'  Marseillaise  '  at  the  tops  of  our  voices,  and  the 
men  of  the  Army  of  the  North  shouting  '  Vive 


n8  ®[)e  tOI)ite  terror 


la  Republique! '  and  cheering  us  as  we  came  on! 
We  marched  past  the  General,  and  counter- 
marched, and  formed  up  while  he  made  a 
speech  to  us. 

"'Boys,'  says  the  General,  'you've  come 
at  just  the  right  time!  To-morrow  you  shall 
taste  Prussian  plums.  They  are  over  in  that 
village  in  front  of  us,  the  Prussians  are,  and  the 
woods  are  full  of  them.  I  haven't  counted  'em, 
but  I'll  not  be  far  out  if  I  say  that  there  are  forty- 
five  thousand  of  'em — and  now  that  you've  got 
here  we're  about  eighteen  thousand  strong. 
And  that's  just  about  right — for  one  soldier  of 
the  Republic  ought  to  be  able  to  account  for 
three  of  the  hirelings  of  the  Prussian  King! '  and 
then  the  General  cried  'Vive  la  Republique!' 
and  we  cried  '  Vive  la  Republique! '  and  every- 
body cheered. 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you  it  just  made  us  proud 
to  be  talked  to  that  way,  and  joyful  that  our 
chance  to  fight  for  Liberty  was  to  come  so  soon. 
We  hugged  each  other  all  round,  as  if  we  hadn't 
met  for  years;  and  then  we  went  to  hugging 
the  soldiers  we  didn't  know  at  alias  if  they'd 
been  our  long  lost  brothers;  and  we  shouted 
and  yelled!  The  fine  young  fellow  who'd  left 
his  hunting  to  join  us  was  wilder  than  anybody, 
he  was  so  glad.  He  was  a  good  one,  he  was. 
He  gave  his  horse  to  the  General;  and  although 
he  was  a  gentleman  born  and  had  a  lot  of  yellow- 
boys  in  his  pockets  he  munched  black  bread 
with  us,  and  at  night  lay  down  with  us  on  the 
hare's  mattress,  without  ever  saying  a  word! 
He  took  a  great  fancy  to  your  Pascalet,  and  he 
seemed  to  like  me  too.  'Pierre  Jacques,'  he 


iJrooe  iftargon  119 


told  us  to  call  him,  and  we  did;  but  some  of 
the  other  recruits  said  that  that  wasn't  his  name, 
and  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  ci-devant  noble. 
But  that  didn't  matter  to  us — for  our  '  Pierre 
Jacques'  had  no  part  nor  lot  with  the  nobles 
any  more.  The  star  of  the  Republic  guided 
him,  and  the  sun  of  Liberty  lighted  up  his  beau- 
tiful soul ! " 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   AFFAIR   OF   VALMY 

"OuR  General  hadn't  lied  to  us,"  Margan 
went  on,  "when  he  told  us  we  were  to  taste 
Prussian  plums  that  day.  The  Prussians  were 
ready  for  us  and  we  were  ready  for  them,  and 
while  the  dawn  was  breaking  our  drums  beat 
the  pas  de  charge — and  at  it  we  started,  singing 
the  '  Marseillaise.' 

"I  saw  that  there  was  hot  work  ahead  of 
us,  and  before  it  began  I  turned  to  Pascalet  and 
said:  '  See  here,  Kiddy,  we're  going  to  the  bum- 
ble-bee's high  mass  again — and  this  time  we've 
got  to  handle  not  a  few  fellows  in  King  Capet's 
castle  but  the  whole  army  of  the  King  of  Prus- 
sia. He's  as  bad  a  tyrant  as  Capet  was,  and  a 
better  fighter.  Do  your  best,  my  Pascalet — and 
remember  that  we've  got  to  show  these  north- 
ern volunteers  that  the  Reds  of  the  Midi  don't 
back  down ! '  And  that  brave  little  fellow  an- 
swered: Mf  you  see  me  doing  any  backing 
down,  Margan,  blow  my  brains  out ! '  And  then 
a  devil  of  a  cannonading  began  that  put  a  stop 
to  any  more  talk. 

""We  had  been  eating  some  bits  of  bread — 
but  we  had  to  stop  biting  bread  and  take  to 
biting  cartridges;  and  cartridges  are  not  belly- 
filling,  I  can  tell  you.  The  cannon  were  bang- 


Affair  of 


ing  away  at  us  at  a  great  rate.  We  could  hear 
the  balls  whizzing  over  us,  hissing  like  angry 
snakes,  and  we  could  see  the  branches  of  trees 
falling — but  the  gunners  had  not  got  our  range. 
As  far  as  we  could  see,  off  in  front  of  us,  the 
ground  was  just  black  with  Prussians.  Their 
base  was  a  village  that  they  were  holding,  and 
right  into  the1  thick  of  them  we  had  to  go  and 
take  that  village.  If  we  didn't,  it  would  be  the 
other  way  about — and  then  there  would  be  no 
Army  of  the  North  to  hold  the  frontier,  and  the 
King  of  Prussia  would  come  marching  into 
France,  and  on  he  would  march  to  Paris  and  set 
up  the  tumbled-down  throne  again.  And  then 
— well,  then  it  would  be  good-bye  to  Revolu- 
tion and  Republic  and  all! 

"  So  we  ragglety-bobtails  stood  to  our  work 
— though  the  gunners  had  got  our  range  and  the 
musket-ball  bees  were  buzzing  around  us — and 
did  what  we  could  for  France.  Go  back  we 
wouldn't,  and  go  ahead  we  couldn't,  for  our  or- 
der to  charge  did  not  come.  So  we  just  bit 
our  cartridges  and  fired  and  fired  into  the  black 
heap  of  Prussians  out  there  in  front  of  us  on  the 
plain. 

"And  then,  suddenly,  through  the  whirl- 
winds of  smoke  and  the  whirlwinds  of  dust 
ploughed  up  by  the  balls,  we  saw  General  Du- 
mouriez  on  horseback  right  in  front  of  the  bat- 
tle ;  and  we  saw  that  our  line  was  wavering,  and 
that  the  General  was  trying  to  steady  it  and  to 
lead  a  charge.  But  the  line  broke,  in  spite  of 
him,  and  our  red-plumed  boys  began  to  go  the 
wrong  way.  And  then  what  we  had  taken  to 
be  a  line  of  pine  woods,  far  off  on  the  plain, 


tDljite  terror 


suddenly  became  a  line  of  Prussian  reserves — 
that  came  forward  to  the  blare  of  trumpets, 
bringing  the  whole  Prussian  army  along  with  it, 
on  the  heels  of  our  flying  boys.  Well,  it  did 
look  just  then  as  though  we'd  lost  everything — 
the  battle  and  our  honour,  too! 

"It  was  more  than  we  fellows  could  stand. 
We  didn't  care  what  happened  to  us — if  only 
we  could  save  the  day.  So  down  went  all  our 
heads  together,  under  the  storm  of  balls  and 
bullets,  and  like  so  many  butting  billy-goats  we 
went  into  the  fight  at  a  double  quick,  our  drums 
beating  the  pas  de  charge.  Like  a  wedge  our 
brigade  jammed  itself  in  between  the  runaways 
and  the  oncoming  black  battalions:  and  then 
General  Dumouriez,  who  was  crying  with  shame 
over  it  all,  found  that  he  had  some  men  behind 
him  whom  he  could  lead!  It  was  hot  work 
that  he  led  us  to!  From  the  Prussian  line  came 
a  hurricane  of  bullets  and  cannon-balls  and  grape 
that  levelled  everything — trees,  bushes,  horses, 
men,  all  went  down  together,  as  though  a  great 
scythe  had  swept  over  the  plain ! 

"But  when  the  red-haired  Prussians,  the 
slaves  of  the  Prussian  King,  saw  us  coming — 
charging  on  at  them  through  everything,  roar- 
ing out  the  'Marseillaise' — they  halted,  formed 
up  their  lines,  and  met  us  with  a  still  more 
deadly  fire.  But  this  fire  only  made  us  hurry 
forward  so  that  we  might  come  to  grips  with 
them.  'Never  mind  the  Prussian  plums,'  I 
called  out  to  Pascalet,  who  was  just  ahead  of 
me.  '  Have  your  pitchfork  ready — this  is  our 
threshing-floor,  and  we're  going  to  toss  the 
straw! '  Pascalet's  face  was  one  black  grime  of 


Affair  of  balmj»  123 


powder  and  smoke.  He  never  answered  me  a 
word,  for  at  that  moment  we  were  in  on  the 
Prussian  line.  But  he  did  what  I  told  him  to 
do.  'Tremblez,  tyrans,  et  vous,  perfides!'  he 
yelled  —  and  he  tossed  on  his  bayonet  a  Prussian 
gunner  who  must  have  weighed  three  times  as 
much  as  he  weighed  himself! 

"  And  then  the  straw  began  to  fly,  I  can  tell 
you!  We  were  in  a  fury  of  killing,  and  we  killed 
and  killed  !  They  tried  to  run  from  us  —  but  the 
big  heavy  louts  were  no  match  for  our  nimble- 
ness,  and  they  stumbled  over  each  other  in  their 
clumsy  way.  When  they  stood  up  to  us  we 
spitted  them  in  the  breast;  when  they  were 
down  we  gave  it  to  them  in  the  back  or  the 
belly  or  the  buttocks,  just  as  it  chanced  —  and  on 
we  went,  leaving  behind  us  a  sheet  of  dead  and 
wounded  spread  over  the  plain. 

"And  what  we  were  doing  brought  the 
others  up  to  the  collar  and  made  them  pull  their 
pound.  Our  own  runaways,  seeing  Dumou- 
riez  dashing  on  at  the  head  of  us  raggle-tails, 
were  shamed  out  of  their  panic.  General  Kel- 
lermann,  another  good  fellow,  got  them  re- 
formed; and  at  the  head  of  them  waved  his 
sword  and  shouted  out  the  '  Marseillaise  '  —  and 
with  heads  down  and  fixed  bayonets  they 
charged  the  Prussians  on  a  full  run,  like  so  many 
wolves! 

"Well,  amongst  us  all,  we  settled  the  mat- 
ter. But  we  got  so  twisted  up  in  doing  it  that 
our  right  wing  was  our  left  wing  by  the  time 
we  were  through.  That  didn't  make  any  dif- 
ference, though.  At  the  end  of  the  battle,  when 
the  multitude  of  Prussians  was  scampering  in 
9 


124  ftlje  tXH)ite  terror 

, 

all  directions,  and  a  multitude  more  of  them 
lay  dead  or  wounded  on  the  ground,  our  two 
wings  met  in  the  village  of  Valmy — the  Repub- 
lican soldiers  with  their  plumed  cocked-hats, 
and  we  raggle-tails  in  red  liberty  caps — and 
just  how  we  all  got  there  we  didn't  any  of  us 
know!  But  there  we  were — where  the  Prus- 
sians had  been — and  we  marched  through  the 
village  roaring  out  the  '  Marseillaise '  fit  to 
shake  down  the  village  walls!  " 

"  And  my  Pascalet?  What  became  of  him 
in  all  that  killing?"  La  Ratine  asked  in  a  trem- 
bling voice. 

"Pascalet?  Well,  when  the  fight  was 
over,  he  wasn't  around  anywhere,  that  I  could 
see,  and  I  was  in  a  real  stew  about  him.  He 
wasn't  with  us,  and  that  seemed  to  mean  that 
he  had  been  knocked  over  for  good  or  was  ly- 
ing somewhere  wounded — only  some  of  our 
fellows  said  that  they  certainly  had  seen  him 
alive  after  the  Prussians  broke;  and  that  was 
hopeful,  for  the  firing  about  came  to  an  end 
then.  But  he  had  to  be  looked  for,  and  back  I 
went  through  the  dusk  to  look  for  him  on  the 
bloody  field.  It  was  bad  there,  among  the 
wounded  in  the  twilight.  I  got  up  on  a  bit  of 
wall  and  shouted  'Pascalet!  Pascalet!'  For 
answer,  there  came  through  the  gloom  from  that 
field  covered  with  the  dead  and  wounded  a 
sort  of  shivering  groan  that  fairly  froze  the  mar- 
row in  my  bones!  And  there  was  a  quiver- 
ing of  the  ground,  as  it  looked,  as  the  poor 
wounded  fellows  tried  to  raise  themselves  a  lit- 
tle and  call  for  help  and  then  fell  back  again. 
And  then,  as  the  dusk  got  deeper,  I  saw  com- 


Affair  of  baling  125 


ing  toward  me  from  where  the  dead  were  piled 
thickest  what  looked  like  a  giant  —  and  with  my 
teeth  chattering  I  called  '  Pascalet!  Pascalet!' 
again. 

"'Hello,  Margan!  Is  that  you?  Come 
here  and  help  me.  I'm  about  done  up.'  It 
was  Pascalet's  voice,  and  when  I  got  to  him  it 
was  Pascalet  sure  enough.  But  he  looked  like 
some  queer  monster,  because  he  had  a  man  on 
his  back.  'Give  us  a  hand,'  says  he.  'I've 
got  Jacques  Pierre  on  my  back,  and  he's  more 
of  a  load  than  I  can  manage.'  '  You're  a  good 
one,  Pascalet,'  says  I.  'No  I'm  not,'  says  he. 
'  I  saw  Jacques  Pierre  go  down,  and  when  the 
fight  was  over  I  went  to  hunt  for  him,  just  as 
anybody'd  have  done.  And  I  found  him,  and 
I  don't  think  he's  badly  hurt.  But  there's  a 
lot  of  him  to  carry!  Just  take  his  shoulders, 
will  you  ?  I'll  take  his  legs,  for  that's  the 
light  end  of  him  —  and  I'm  pretty  near  beat.  Be- 
tween us  it  won't  take  long  to  get  him  into 
camp.'  And  it  didn't  —  and  when  we'd  doused 
him  with  cold  water  he  opened  his  eyes 
and  presently  was  all  right  again.  Nothing 
much  had  happened  to  him  —  just  a  bullet-graze 
on  his  skull  that  had  stunned  him.  He  was  as 
good  as  anybody  next  morning,  and  was  off 
chasing  Prussians  with  the  rest  of  us  at  dawn. 

"And  what  a  chase  that  was!  The  Prus- 
sians were  just  like  wild-oats  in  a  field  —  the 
more  you  pulled  up,  the  more  there  were  to 
pull!  They  had  run  off  in  all  directions  and 
were  hiding  everywhere.  We  found  those 
green-coats  in  ditches,  in  barns  and  sheep-folds, 
behind  hedges,  in  the  beds  of  streams  —  in  all 


126  ®|)e  tOliite  terror 

sorts  of  places  we  found  'em :  and  wherever  we 
found  'em  we  killed  'em  off  like  flies.  At  last 
we  had  finished  with  them — and  from  the  good 
field  of  the  Republic  those  weeds  were  gone!  " 

The  sun  had  been  moving  while  Margan 
had  been  talking  and  the  little  party  no  longer 
was  in  the  shade.  "Hello!"  he  exclaimed. 
"This  won't  do.  The  sun's  coming  round  "- 
and  he  rolled  the  stone  on  which  he  had  been 
sitting  into  the  shade  again.  The  others  fol- 
lowed his  example,  and  Monsieur  Randoulet 
took  advantage  of  the  interruption  to  bring  out 
the  melon  from  the  wallet  of  stores.  "  Before 
you  take  up  the  thread  of  your  story  again, 
Citizen  Margan,"  he  said,  "let  me  give  you  a 
slice  of  watermelon." 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  Margan  answered  heartily. 
"And  to  wet  my  whistle  that  way  won't  put 
back  the  story,  either.-  It  will  help  it  along." 
And  between  his  bites  into  the  juicy  pink  flesh 
of  the  melon,  and  to  the  sound  of  the  general 
munching,  on  he  went  again  with  what  he  had 
to  tell. 

"Well,  friends,  when  there  wasn't  a  single 
slave  of  the  King  of  Prussia  left  within  our  reach, 
over  we  marched  into  Belgium — where,  as  we 
were  told,  our  emigrant  Aristocrats  were  getting 
together  an  army  that  was  to  invade  us  and 
bring  our  holy  Revolution  to  an  end.  And  this 
that  we  were  told  was  true.  A  pack  of  miser- 
ables,  who  called  themselves  the  flower  of  the 
French  nobility — dukes,  marquises,  counts, 
barons:  may  they  all  perish  in  the  thunder  of 
God! — had  gone  whining  like  beggars  to  all  the 
courts  in  Europe,  and  of  all  the  tyrants  had  asked 


®lje  Affair  of    almn  127 

for  armies  to  help  them  to  invade  their  own  land 
of  France.  What  is  more,  these  cowardly  rene- 
gades had  managed  so  well — being  backed  by 
the  traitor  Capet,  who  paid  for  the  job  with  his 
head — that  they  had  at  their  heels  in  Belgium 
such  an  army  of  Austrians  as  I  don't  believe  ever 
before  marched  out  under  the  cape  of  the  sun ! 
Forty  thousand  of  them,  there  must  have  been; 
and  forty  thousand  horses,  and  how  many  thou- 
sand cannon  I  really  don't  know!  There  were 
generals  and  commandants  and  captains  of  this 
host:  that  was  made  up,  as  I  say,  of  forty  thou- 
sand men,  and  forty  thousand  guns,  and  forty 
thousand  bayonets,  and  forty  thousand  swords 
— every  one  of  them  brand  new:  sharpened, 
shining,  glittering! 

' '  Our  army  was  of  another  sort.  At  Valmy, 
half  of  us  had  no  bayonets  to  our  muskets  and 
half  of  us  had  no  swords.  Half  of  us  went  bare- 
foot, and  the  rest  of  us  had  cracked  sabots  that 
wouldn't  stick  to  our  feet.  And  many  a  time 
our  bellies  were  empty  when  we  lay  down  to 
sleep  in  the  mud  or  on  the  bare  stones.  But  we 
didn't  care!  Though  we  went  hungry,  we  had 
a  flame  that  fed  us:  our  faith  in  Liberty! 
Though  our  arms  were  poor  and  shabby,  we 
had  a  weapon  more  terrible  than  red-hot  can- 
non balls  and  glittering  swords:  our  'Mar- 
seillaise '  ! 

"Well,  over  we  went  into  Belgium,  and 
through  Belgium  we  went  hunting  for  that  ter- 
rible army  of  Austrians.  But  we  couldn't  find 
it!  Our  generals,  to  hearten  us  up,  kept  say- 
ing :  '  We'll  meet  them  to-morrow ' — only  it  kept 
on  being  '  to-morrow, '  until  we  got  sick  and  tired 


128  ®|)e  tXHjite  terror 

,«i«*«*w. 

of  marching  to  that  fight  that  never  came  off ! 
To  tell  the  truth,  we  almost  lost  heart  over  it. 
Some  of  our  fellows  said:  'There  can't  be  any 
army  for  us  to  fight.  An  army  isn't  a  pin — you 
can't  lose  it  in  the  grass!'  But  others  took  a 
blacker  view  of  the  matter,  and  said  gloomily : 
'  We  are  betrayed ! ' 

''Our  Pascalet  was  among  the  few  who 
never  lost  heart  nor  courage.  He  kept  up  the 
spirits  of  the  doubters,  and  when  any  man  talked 
about  our  being  betrayed  he  would  give  that 
man  a  shaking  that  brought  him  back  to  reason ; 
and  then  he  would  burst  out  with 

'  Allons,  enfants  de  la  Patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive! ' 

And  all  together  we  would  take  up  the  glo- 
rious song,  and  our  hearts  would  swell  again 
with  hope. 

"One  morning  we  were  grunting  worse 
than  ever.  For  three  days  we  had  been  march- 
ing through  a  forest.  As  we  fell  in,  at  dawn, 
cold  and  hungry,  to  keep  on  with  our  march 
you  could  hear  from  one  end  of  our  line  to  the 
other  only  growls.  It  seemed  as  though  we 
never  were  going  to  get  out  from  among  those 
endless  trees !  But  when  we  had  formed  for  the 
march  General  Dumouriez  forced  our  column 
and  called  out  to  usv  as  he  waved  his  sword: 
'  Citizen  soldiers  of  the  Republic !  The  sun  shall 
not  set  before  you  have  seen  the  army  of  the 
Austrian  tyrant!  Vive  la  Nation! ' 

"Those  words,  you  may  be  sure,  put  fresh 
life  into  us.  All  together,  in  a  great  roar,  we 
shouted:  'Vive  Dumouriez!  Vive  la  Nation!' 


Affair  of  balmg  129 


—  and  swung  forward,  still  cheering,  eager  to 
lessen  the  distance  between  us  and  the  enemy. 
And  presently,  just  as  the  sun  rose,  we  came 
out  into  the  open  —  and  that  miserable  forest  at 
last  was  left  behind! 

"But  what  we  saw  before  us  dashed  our 
hopes  again.  Below,  out  in  front  of  us,  stretch- 
ing away  to  the  horizon,  was  what  seemed  to 
,  be  the  ocean  —  with  little  waves  upon  its  surface 
which  caught  the  sunlight  and  sent  bright 
flashes  into  our  eyes.  'The  sea!'  we  cried. 
'  We  are  at  the  end  of  the  earth  !  We  have 
missed  the  Austrians!  Back  we  must  go 
through  the  forest  for  another  three  chill  nights 
and  days  !  '  Utter  discouragement  settled  down 
upon  us.  Even  Pascalet  had  not  the  heart  to 
strike  up  the  'Marseillaise.'  Only  our  comrade 
Jacques  Pierre  —  who  was  a  northern  man,  you 
know  —  didn't  seem  disheartened  a  bit;  and  as 
he  listened  to  our  growls  and  groans  he  only 
grinned.  And  Jacques  Pierre  was  right  to  grin 
that  way,  for  we  were  a  pack  of  fools! 

"As  the  sun  rose  higher  above  the  hills,  and 
the  heat  of  his  rays  grew  stronger,  all  of  a  sud- 
den a  new  picture  was  before  our  wondering 
eyes.  Like  a  cloud  of  smoke  melting  away  and 
vanishing,  what  had  seemed  like  the  glittering 
waves  of  the  ocean  were  dissolved  in  the  sun- 
shine —  and  before  us  was  a  great  marshy  plain 
across  which  the  Austrians,  horse  and  foot  and 
artillery,  were  marching  toward  the  hills  near 
Jemappes  where  they  were  to  make  their  stand. 
And  then,  in  a  flash,  we  understood  the  mistake 
that  we  had  made.  The  layer  of  thick  mist, 
rising  just  a  little  higher  than  the  head  of  a  man 


®  error 


on  horseback,  had  hidden  everything  but  the 
glistening  bayonet-tips  and  the  glistening  crests 
of  the  cavalrymen's  helmets  —  and  these,  sway- 
ing regularly  with  the  regular  motion  of  the 
march,  had  seemed  to  us  numskulls  the  spark- 
ling wavelets  of  the  sea!  " 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    BATTLE    OF  JEMAPPES 

"WELL,"  Morgan  went  on,  "if  ever  there 
was  a  lot  of  delighted  men  it  was  us  just  then. 
We  were  not  permitted  to  make  a  noise — for 
we  were  under  cover  of  the  wood  and  the  ene- 
my had  not  seen  us — and  so  we  could  not  take 
to  yelling  the  'Marseillaise,'  as  we  wanted  to. 
But  we  stuck  our  red  caps  on  our  bayonets  and 
waved  them  about,  and  danced  silent  rigadoons 
together — until,  presently,  the  order  came  for 
us  to  march  back  into  the  wood  again,  to  some 
marble  quarries,  that  we  might  lie  hidden  there. 

"Back  we  went  to  the  great  marble  quar- 
ries, and  there  we  lay  snugly  out  of  sight — like 
so  many  wolves  in  a  den.  Then  we  had  our 
breakfast  of  bread,  and  precious  dry  and  hard  it 
was!  The  men  all  growled  over  it  and  said  we 
might  as  well  be  eating  stones.  Pascalet  man- 
aged it  better  than  the  rest  of  us,  for  he  has 
jaws  and  teeth  fit  to  crack  steel.  '  What  are 
you  growling  about  ? '  he  asked.  '  To-morrow 
we'll  have  bayonets  for  breakfast,  and  they'll  be 
harder  still!'  And  the  notion  of  having  "bayo- 
nets-for  breakfast  set  us  all  to  laughing,  and  to 
longing  for  the  next  day  to  come. 

"  To  fill  in  the  time,  for  it  was  dull  work 
waiting  idly,  we  cleaned  up  our  muskets  and 

131 


132  ®l)c  iDI)itc  terror 

pistols  and  sharpened  our  swords  ;  and  we 
watched  General  Dumouriez  and  General  Kel- 
lermann  and  the  two  deputies  from  the  Con- 
vention sitting  together  with  a  map  spread  out 
in  front  of  them,  planning  how  the  battle  was 
to  be  fought.  It  was  comfortable  down  there 
in  the  deep  quarries,  dry  and  warm — the  best 
camp  we'd  made  on  the  whole  march.  And  yet 
when  night  came — though  we  were  used  to 
sleeping  anyhow  and  anywhere — we  couldn't 
sleep  at  all!  Every  minute  somebody  would 
be  asking:  'Isn't  it  almost  daylight?  Isn't  it 
time  to  start  ?  ' 

"Well,  from  the  time  that  we  turned  back 
into  the  wood  until  we  started  out  again  we 
had  twenty  hours  of  waiting.  I  tell  you  it  did 
us  good  when  at  last  we  got  the  order  to  fall 
in !  We  laughed  and  joked  over  what  was 
coming,  and  some  of  us  took  to  dancing  a  faran- 
dole!  Pascalet,  coming  from  the  farandole 
country,  ought  to  have  been  in  that;  but  he 
wasn't,  and  when  I  hunted  around  for  him  I 
found  him  standing  on  one  side  looking  as  glum 
as  you  please.  'What's  the  matter?'  says  I. 
'Oh,  nothing,'  says  he.  'Yes  there  is,'  says  I. 
'What  is  it?'  'It's  nothing,  I  tell  you,'  says 
he — and  then  we  fell  in,  and  the  column  began 
to  move.  It  was  the  dusk  of  very  early  morn- 
ing. Our  drums  were  silent.  As  quietly  as 
possible  we  marched  toward  the  position  to 
which  we  had  been  assigned. 

"To  make  Pascalet  tell  me  what  was.  the 
matter  with  him,  I  pretended  to  be  angry  with 
him  and  made  a  show  of  joining  the  next  rank. 
We  always  had  marched  side  by  side,  like 


Dattlc  of  Ictnappes  133 


brothers,  and  he  couldn't  stand  that.  As  I 
stepped  away  from  him  he  put  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  said:  'Stay  with  me,  Margan.' 

"  'Then  speak  up,'  said  I.  'I  don't  know 
you.  Pascalet,  when  you're  like  this.' 

"I  took  my  place  beside  him  again,  and  as 
we  marched  on  together  he  said  to  me  in  a 
voice  so  low  that  only  I  could  hear  him  :  '  Mar- 
gan, I'm  not  afraid  of  death.  I'd  give  my  life 
twenty  times  over,  if  I  could,  for  the  Republic 
and  for  Liberty.' 

"  '  Well,  nobody  doubts  that,'  said  I.  '  But 
what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Has  anybody 
said  anything  to  hurt  you  ?  ' 

"'No,  no.  It's  nothing  of  that  kind,'  he 
answered.  He  was  quiet  for  a  minute,  and 
then  he  went  on:  'See  here,  Margan,  it's  an 
easy  thing  for  a  sword  to  split  your  head  open, 
or  a  musket  bullet  to  make  a  hole  through  you, 
or  a  cannon  ball  to  knock  you  to  bits.  I've 
been  thinking  that  something  like  that  may  be 
going  to  happen  to  me  —  that  in  the  next  couple 
of  hours  or  so  I  may  be  killed.' 

"'Well,'  said  1,  'you  won't  be  the  only 
one.  And,  anyway,  what's  to  be  done  about 
it  ?  When  a  man's  dead,  he's  dead  —  and  that's 
all  there  is  about  it.  It's  a  kind  of  sickness 
there's  no  cure  for.' 

"  'I'm  not  laughing,'  said  he.  'If  I  die,  if 
my  life  goes  out  for  our  just  Revolution,  I  want 
you  to  do  something  for  me,  Margan.  Will  you?  ' 

"  'Speak  up,'  said  I.  'I'll  do  anything  you 
want  me  to  do  —  always  supposing  I  don't 
sneeze  out  my  little  butterfly  of  a  soul  ahead  of 
yours.' 


134  ®t)£  tOIjite 


"  '  Please  don't  make  fun,'  said  the  poor 
boy,  with  a  long  sigh.  '  I'm  in  earnest,  Mar- 
gan.  I'm  very  much  in  earnest.  I  want  you 
to  promise  me  that  if  I  die,  and  you  get  home 
all  right,  you'll  go  and  see  my  mother.' 

"  '  Why,  of  course  I  will,'  said  I.  And  then 
I  gave  him  a  slap  on  the  shoulder  and  said  : 
'Cheer  up,  youngster!  Something  tells  me 
you're  not  going  to  die  to-day.' 

"  '  But  that's  —  that's  not  all  I  want  you  to 
do  for  me,  Margan,'  he  went  on  in  a  queer  sort 
of  way. 

"'Well,  out  with  the  rest  of  it,'  said  I. 
'  I'll  do  whatever  you  want.' 

"'When  I'm  —  when  I'm  dead,'  said  he, 
'  here  in  this  pocket  over  my  heart  you'll  find  a 
bright  medal  of  Notre  Dame  de  bon  secours. 
I  want  you  to  take  it,  and  to  take  great  care  of 
it;  and  when  you  go  home  I  want  you  to  give 
it  to  one  whom  I  love,  to  one  who  perhaps 
loves  me  —  whose  face  always  is  before  my 
eyes  as  clear  as  when  I  saw  her,  the  bird-song 
of  whose  sweet  voice  always  is  ringing  in  my 
ears  as  plain  as  when  I  heard  her  !  ' 

"  '  But  who  is  she  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  '  Oh,'  said  he,  '  you  can't  possibly  mistake 
her.  She's  the  very  best  and  the  most  beauti- 
ful girl  in  all  the  world  !  She's  the  flower  of 
the  world!  She's  an  angel  from  Paradise. 
She's  as  dazzling  as  Liberty!  And  you'll  say  to 
her,  please:  "Poor  Pascalet,  when  he  died  for 
his  country,  was  thinking  of  you.  He  was 
thinking  of  you  when  he  shed  his  last  drop  of 
blood.  He  told  me  to  bring  to  you,  that  you 
might  keep  it  in  memory  of  him,  this  medal  of 


®l)e  Battle  of  Jfemapjics  135 

Notre  Dame  de  bon  secours — the  only  thing 
that  he  owned  in  all  the  world!  " 

"  'Now  see  here,  Pascalet,'  said  I,  'do  you 
think  I'm  a  wizard  ?  She's  the  most  beautiful 
and  the  best,  and  a  flower  and  an  angel,  and  as 
dazzling  as  Liberty!  That's  all  very  well.  But 
that's  the  way  they  all  are — all  the  girls  who 
make  us  fall  head  over  heels  in  love  with  'em. 
If  you  want  me  to  do  this  for  you,  you've  got  to 
tell  me  your  girl's  name.' 

"All  the  time  that  we  were  talking  we  were 
going  forward  at  a  good  pace,  and  by  that  time 
we  were  down  on  the  great  mist-covered  plain, 
that  we  had  taken  for  the  sea  the  day  before, 
and  were  marching  through  the  mist  ourselves. 

"  Pascalet  did  not  answer  me,  and  to  make 
him  give  me  something  that  I  could  go  by  I  said 
to  him,  short  and  sharp:  'I  don't  believe  you 
know  her  name  yourself  ! ' 

"  He  turned  red  and  said:  '  Vauclair  will  tell 
you  who  it  is.' 

' '  '  But  where  am  I  to  find  Vauclair  ? '  I  asked. 
'  Don't  you  suppose  that  Vauclair's  off  on  the 
frontier  too — fighting  the  foreigners  along  with 
all  the  other  good  Reds  of  the  Midi  ? ' 

"  '  If  you  can't  find  Vauclair,'  he  said,  'Vau- 
clair's wife,  Lazuli,  will  tell  you.  She  rescued 
us  both  from  misfortune  and  took  us  home  to 
live  with  her.  And  she  guessed  our  child-love 
— when  she  saw  us  playing  with  the  fire  that's 
burning  in  me  now,  and  that  will  burn  in  me 
always  while  I  live.' 

"Then  I  gave  him  a  cut  that  I  was  sure 
would  bring  the  truth  out  of  him.  '  Oh,'  said  I, 
'  I  see  how  it  is — you're  ashamed  to  tell  me  her 


terror 


name.     It's  some  good-for-nothing  baggage  in 
Paris ' 

"'Hush!  Hush!  Margan!'  he  exclaimed. 
'  You  must  not  talk  that  way.  I  will  tell  you 
her  name.  It  is  Adeline,  and  she  is  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  Marquis  d'Ambrun.'  And  as  he  got  it 
out  at  last  he  took  a  step  ahead  of  me  so  that  I 
could  not  see  his  burning  cheeks. 

"At  that  very  moment  the  sun  came  up 
above  the  hills — and  as  though  the  sun  had  set 
the  world  on  fire  there  burst  upon  us  a  hellish 
cannonade!  All  the  batteries  began  an  awful 
fire  upon  us:  belching  out  round-shot  and  grape 
and  flashings  and  thunderings  without  a  single 
stop,  until  we  were  in  the  very  thick  of  a  rain 
of  lead  and  iron!  As  we  stood  there  in  the 
centre  of  the  plain,  with  the  cannon  blazing 
away  at  us,  it  seemed  as  if  every  stone  and  tree 
and  bush,  even  the  very  tufts  of  grass,  on  all  the 
mountains  and  hills  round  about  us  were  loaded 
with  powder  and  shot  and  all  were  going  off 
together  to  sweep  us  away  from  the  face  of  the 
earth ! 

"  Tangled  up  as  we  were  in  the  fog,  it  was 
more  than  we  could  stand.  Our  battalions 
shivered,  wavered,  broke!  An  awful  confusion 
was  upon  us.  Through  the  fog  we  ran  without 
knowing  where  we  were  running.  We  tram- 
pled over  our  own  wounded — whose  shrieks 
and  howls  made  things  a  thousand  times  worse. 
Our  two  squadrons  of  cavalry,  in  the  van,  lost 
their  heads  and  came  crashing  back  right  through 
our  ranks.  We  didn't  know  where  to  turn  nor 
what  to  do.  We  couldn't  see  our  generals.  We 
heard  no  orders.  The  rain  of  lead  and  iron  fell 


Battle  of  Jfemappes  137 


faster  and  foster.  It  looked  as  if  it  was  going  to 
be  the  very  ruin  of  ruin  —  as  if  our  army  of  the 
Republic  was  to  be  wiped  out  for  good  and  all! 
And  Pascalet  was  gone  from  beside  me.  I  called 
to  him  —  'Pascalet!  Pascalet!'  There  was  no 
answer  —  and  all  around  me  the  ground  was  cov- 
ered with  dead  and  dying  men!  " 

Margan  stopped  in  his  story  suddenly  and 
exclaimed:  "Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the 
boy?"  As  he  spoke,  Adeline  gave  a  gasping 
cry  and  fell  over  sidewise  in  a  dead  faint  on 
Monsieur  Randoulet's  knees. 

"Water!  Quick,  water!"  cried  Monsieur 
Randoulet,  as  he  raised  her  tenderly  in  his 
arms. 

"  Here's  something  that  will  do  more  good 
than  water,"  said  Margan  —  and  drew  a  flask 
from  his  pocket  and  held  it  to  Adeline's  lips. 
The  strong  stuff  revived  her  in  a  moment.  Her 
eyes  opened,  the  colour  returned  to  her  face,  and 
she  sat  erect  again.  Then  her  memory  partly 
came  back,  and  she  asked  brokenly:  "But  — 
but  he  was  not  killed,  the  brave  Pascalet?" 

'  '  Not  a  bit  of  it  !  "  Margan  answered.  '  '  And, 
what  is  more,  it  was  he  who  got  us  out  of  our 
scrape." 

Being  assured  by  Adeline's  quick  revival  that 
her  fainting  was  not  a  serious  matter,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  little  party  settled  down  again  —  their 
mouths  as  wide  open  as  horse-collars  —  to  listen 
to  the  rest  of  the  story  of  the  battle;  and  Mar- 
gan, having  put  his  flask  back  into  his  pocket, 
went  on  : 

"I  thought,  just  as  the  boy  here  thought, 
that  our  Pascalet  had  swallowed  a  bullet  the 


138  ®be  tOtjite  (Terror 

wrong  way — for  I  couldn't  see  him  anywhere. 
And  things  were  in  a  devil  of  a  mess  generally. 
Our  line  was  wavering;  and  our  officers,  in- 
stead of  steadying  us,  were  giving  us  orders  at 
cross  purposes — our  captain  ordering  us  to  lie 
down,  and  our  major  waving  his  sword  and 
ordering  us  to  charge.  With  the  mist  blinding 
us,  and  with  death  all  around  us,  it  was  more 
than  any  soldiers  could  stand.  In  another  min- 
ute or  two  we  should  have  broken  our  ranks 
and  run  for  it — and  if  we  had  done  that  I  don't 
believe  a  man  of  us  would  have  pulled  through 
alive.  And  then,  suddenly,  our  courage,  our 
patriotism,  every  bit  of  go  that  was  in  us,  came 
to  the  top  as  we  heard — heard  it  above  the  in- 
fernal roar  of  the  firing — a  voice  that  we  knew 
storming  out: 

'  Aliens,  enfants  de  la  Patrie 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive! 
Centre  nous  de  la  tyrannic 
L'etendard  sanglant  est  leve ! ' 

"Just  as  though  our  Hymn  of  the  Revolution 
had  magic  in  it,  as  those  words  rang  out  the 
mist  rose  from  about  us  and  we  could  see  what 
we  were  doing  and  where  we  were.  And  there, 
right  in  front  of  us,  singing  the  glorious  '  Mar- 
seillaise,' we  saw  our  Pascalet — his  bayonet  at 
a  charge,  his  head  down  like  an  angry  bull, 
going  off  at  "a  run  to  capture  all  the  Prussians 
with  his  own  two  hands!  That  settled  things 
for  us.  Off  we  went  after  him — by  tens,  by 
hundreds,  by  thousands.  In  an  instant  our 
whole  division,  thundering  out  the  'Marseillaise,' 
was  streaming  along  toward  the  nearest  hill  that 


®l)e  Settle  of  Jemappes  139 

was  spitting  out  at  us  fire  and  iron  and  death! 
Bent  close  to  the  ground,  we  rushed  onward — 
the  balls  whistling  over  us  as  the  wind  whistles 
over  a  field  of  ripe  wheat  when  the  ears  are 
heavy  and  hang  low.  Our  whole  army  caught 
our  song  and  our  spirit  and  came  on  with  us. 
Like  a  league-long  wave,  our  line  of  battle  surged 
across  the  plain  and  up  the  hillside  with  a  great 
roar  of 

'  Qu'un  sang  impur  abreuve  nos  sillons! ' 

"Up  the  hillside,  a  resistless  tide,  this  roar- 
ing wave  mounted  higher  and  higher — dashing 
up  the  steep  slopes,  plunging  over  the  walls, 
crushing  fiat  the  bushes — until  it  came  full  and 
strong  against  the  fiery  barriers  that  were  thun- 
dering forth  iron  death.  Over  those  barriers 
we  poured — standing  upright,  at  last,  after  our 
charge  of  near  half  a  league — and  down  on  the 
other  side  of  them  we  rushed  like  wolves  into 
the  enemy's  close-pressed  ranks.  And  then 
such  a  killing  began  as  never  was  seen !  They 
were  packed  together,  the  Prussians,  like  bee's 
in  a  swarm.  We  were  against  them  and  among 
them,  in  such  a  jumble  that  you  could  not  tell 
whether  we  were  killing  them  or  hugging  them. 
It  was  so  thick  that  when  you  had  spitted  a 
man  with  your  bayonet  you  scarcely  could  get 
it  out  of  him  again — until  we  unshipped  our 
bayonets  and  took  to  stabbing  with  them  at 
short  arm.  That  answered.  Down  went  the 
Prussians  all  around  us  in  heaps  of  dead  flesh. 
Presently  they  all  were  dead  or  running — and 
the  battery  was  ours! 

"  It  was  that  way   along  the  whole   line. 


i4°  ®b*  tDljite  terror 

Everywhere  the  Prussians  gave  way  before  us — 
for  who  could  withstand  the  soldiers  of  the  Re- 
public ? — and  in  less  than  two  hours  we  had 
carried  all  the  fortified  hills  and  were  holding 
the  centre  of  the  Prussian  position,  the  village 
of  Jemappes.  And  that  meant  that  at  a  single 
gulp — in  just  about  as  long  as  it  takes  to  yoke 
the  oxen  and  plough  a  long  furrow — we'd  con- 
quered Belgium! " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOW    FRENCHMEN    FOUGHT    FOR    FRANCE 

MARGAN  paused  for  a  moment,  while  a  buzz 
of  talk  went  up  from  the  little  company.  Then 
he  went  on  again: 

"Te!  1  clean  forgot  to  tell  you  that,  in  the 
thick  of  it  all,  a  beast  of  a  garde-de-corps  wiped 
out  my  eye  with  a  pistol  shot.  Things  like  that 
happen  in  a  battle,  you  know.  It  was  lucky 
that  he  did  not  wipe  off  the  top  of  my  head! 

"As  for  Pascalet,  I  kept  track  of  him  pretty 
well  while  the  fighting  was  going  on,  and  I 
saw  that  he  came  through  it  all  right.  Every 
now  and  then  I  heard  him  shouting  out  a  bit  of 
the  '  Marseillaise  ' — by  way  of  keeping  the  bat- 
talion up  to  its  work,  I  suppose — and  then  I'd 
say  to  myself:  '  Aha,  the  little  cock  still  is  cock- 
a-doodling.  No  need  to  worry  about  him  yet!' 
And  while  I  had  both  my  eyes  on  duty  I'd  take 
a  look  at  him,  when  the  chance  came,  and  every 
time  I  saw  that  he  was  doing  his  work  with  a 
will — going  at  it  in  as  tearing  a  hurry  as  a  goat 
among  the  grape-vines  in  May-time! 

"After  the  battle  we  came  together  on  the 
little  Place  of  Jemappes.  There  he  saw  that  my 
eye  was  gone — and,  Lord,  but  he  was  in  a  tak- 
ing! He  made  me  come  with  him  to  the  foun- 
tain, and  there  he  washed  my  hurt  and  then 

141 


142  ®l)e  tOI)ite  terror 

bound  it  up  with  a  poultice  of  some  sweet- 
smelling  plant  that  he  found  on  the  hillside — 
something  that  he  knew  about  that  would  do 
me  good,  he  said;  and  it  did.  Why,  a  doctor 
couldn't  have  done  a  better  job!  " 

"  Poor,  poor  Margan!  "  exclaimed  La  Patine. 

"  How  dreadfully  it  must  have  hurt  you!" 
said  Adeline. 

"Oh,  well,"  Margan  answered,  "I  did  have 
a  headache  in  the  night.  But  we  had  to  go  to 
fighting  again  the  next  day,  and  I  didn't  have 
time  to  feel  it  or  to  think  about  it.  You  see,  the 
whole  country  was  full  of  broken  divisions  of 
Prussians  and  Austrians,  and  we  had  to  hunt 
them  out  and  thrash  the  whole  of  them — and  to 
take  all  the  forts  and  all  the  towns  where  they 
tried  to  make  a  stand.  And  we  did  it  with  a 
whizz!  On  we  went  from  victory  to  victory — 
until  all  the  forces  of  the  enemy  were  conquered 
or  scattered,  all  their  generals  dead  or  prisoners, 
and  we  had  the  whole  country  flying  the  Re- 
publican red,  white  and  blue. 

"But  for  all  our  victories,"  Margan  went 
on,  speaking  slowly  and  gravely,  "we  came 
near  to  being  ruined  by  a  black  misfortune. 
Just  because  of  our  victories,  I  suppose,  Dumou- 
riez  had  his  head  turned — to  say  no  worse  of 
him — and  thought  that  he  could  do  what  he 
pleased.  That  man,  whom  we  had  carried  on 
the  palms  of  our  hands,  whom  we  would  have 
followed  to  the  end  of  the  earth  against  our 
country's  enemies,  fancied  that  he  could  use  us 
for  his  own  purposes — that  he  could  conquer 
Holland  with  us,  and  then  march  us  to  Paris 
and  sweep  out  the  Convention  and  make  himself 


£)otD  .frenchmen  fon^t  for  France    143 

I  don't  know  what:  King  or  Emperor,  perhaps; 
or  perhaps  the  power  that  would  put  back  the 
Tyrant  on  his  throne.  Madness  it  all  was,  and 
worse  than  madness — it  was  a  crime! 

"Well,  as  long  as  he  led  us  against  our 
honest  enemies  he  had  no  trouble  with  us. 
Into  Holland  we  followed  him.  shouting  '  Vive 
la  Republique!'  and  all  of  us  as  pleased  as  we 
could  be.  But  one  dismal  day  he  plumped  us 
down  into  the  middle  of  a  Dutch  swamp;  and 
there  he  kept  us,  with  never  a  shot  fired  at  any- 
body for  days  and  weeks — and  what  was  the 
meaning  of  it  we  did  not  know!  'I  don't  un- 
derstand it,'  says  I  to  Pascalet.  'Here  every- 
body's grumbling — and  everybody  has  a  right 
to  grumble,  for  Dumouriez  isn't  Dumouriez  any 
more! ' 

"'A  Republican  can't  be  a  traitor!'  says 
Pascalet  back  to  me,  short  and  sharp.  '  It's  all 
right,  Margan.'  But  that  wasn't  the  way  that  I 
felt  about  it,  and  it  wasn't  the  way  that  most  of 
us  felt  about  it — and,  as  the  end  showed,  we  were 
right  and  Pascalet  was  wrong. 

' ''  Well,  one  day,  four  Deputies  from  the  Con- 
vention came  riding  into  our  camp — we  were 
camped  in  a  village  called  Bois  Saint-Amand — 
to  make  Dumouriez  talk  things  out  with  them ; 
for,  it  seems,  the  folks  in  Paris  had  got  wind  of 
what  he  meant  to  do.  It  was  about  nightfall 
when  they  came  into  camp,  and  Dumouriez  had 
them  brought  straight  to  his  tent — where  he 
was  ready  for  them,  with  a  lot  of  officers  who 
were  of  his  mind.  The  next  thing  those  four 
Deputies  knew,  they  were  prisoners;  and  the 
next  thing  after  that,  they  were  handed  over,  as 


144  ®l)e  tOfyite 


prisoners,  to  the  Austrian  General  —  as  Dumou- 
riez  and  the  Austrian  had  arranged  between 
them  in  advance!  Think  of  it!  Think  of  the 
shame  of  it!  After  Valmy,  after  Jemappes,  the 
soldiers  of  the  Republic  to  be  betrayed!  But, 
God  be  praised!  it  isn't  easy  to  chew  nettles; 
and,  even  when  you  have  chewed  'em,  they 
swallow  hard!  Dumouriez  found  out  the  truth 
of  that  saying  before  he  was  a  much  older  man  ! 

"As  soon  as  the  four  Deputies  had  been  sent 
across  our  lines  to  the  enemy,  the  order  was 
given  that  we  were  to  break  camp  and  march 
at  once.  It  was  cloudy,  and  as  dark  as  pitch, 
but  we  knew  our'  business  and  presently  we 
were  in  marching  order  and  in  line.  Dumou- 
riez and  his  staff  passed  up  our  line,  to  head  the 
march,  and  some  of  our  men  swore  there  were 
Austrians  with  him.  But  that  could  have  beeri 
no  more  than  guess-work  —  for  though  they 
passed  within  twenty  paces  of  us  I  could  see 
only  a  black  huddle  of  men  and  horses  showing 
faintly  against  the  black  sky.  But  about  what 
the  General  said  when  he  got  to  the  head  of  the 
column  there  was  no  guess-work.  In  the  still- 
ness of  that  black  night  we  heard  every  one  of 
his  black  words.  '  Soldiers  of  France,'  he  cried. 
'  Follow  your  General  who  always  has  led  you 
to  victory!  He  leads  you  now  to  deliver  your 
country!  Long  live  France!  Down  with  the 
Convention  !  ' 

"Thunders  of  hell!  When  I  heard  that 
traitor  shouting  out  his  treason  I  couldn't  hold 
myself  in!  'Vive  la  Republique!'  I  shouted  — 
and  all  the  army  shouted  it  after  me  in  a  mighty 
roar  that  fairly  shook  the  black  clouds. 


fjoto  .frenchmen  -fought  for  France    145 

"In  the  lull  of  silence  following  that  great 
shout,  our  brave  Jacques  Pierre  called  out  in  a 
tone  of  bitter  contempt  that  cut  through  the 
darkness  like  a  knife:  'A  fig  for  Dumouriez!' 
Again  the  army  took  up  the  cry,  and  '  A  fig 
for  Dumouriez! '  went  rolling  down  our  line. 

"  Dumouriez  was  in  a  frenzy.  Stammering 
with  rage,  he  shouted :  '  If  the  man  who  said 
that  is  not  afraid  of  death,  let  him  tell  his  name! ' 

"  For  a  moment  there  was  a  silence  so  deep 
that  our  breathing  seemed  to  jar  on  it.  Then,  in 
a  full  strong  voice,  our  comrade  answered:  'It 
was  I  who  said  "A  fig  for  Dumouriez!"  I, 
Jacques  Pierre  Cambronne,  a  volunteer  of  the 
Republic  in  the  Maine-et-Loire  Battalion!' — and 
as  he  spoke  he  brought  his  piece  to  his  shoulder 
and  fired  at  the  traitor  General  in  the  dark! 

"In  an  instant  there  was  a  crackle  of  mus- 
ketry. I  was  firing  at  Dumouriez,  so  was  Pas- 
calet,  so  were  a  score  more!  But  there  was  no 
taking  aim  in  that  pocket  of  darkness,  and  as 
the  plum  was  not  ripe  that  was  to  finish  him  he 
got  safe  away.  We  heard  a  rush  of  galloping 
horses,  then  the  sound  of  hoof-beats  growing 
fainter  and  fainter,  then  only  the  buzz  of  our 
own  angry  talk.  That  was  the  last  of  him. 
We  never  again  laid  eyes  on  that  traitor  who 
had  tried  to  lead  us  out  of  the  bright  road  of 
glory  into  treason's  foul  and  crooked  path! 

"The  whole  of  that  dismal  night  we  spent 
in  cursing  Dumouriez  and  in  bemoaning  our 
shame;  and  then,  for  breakfast,  we  fought  the 
Austrians — who  thought  that  they  could  make 
mincemeat  of  us  because  we  had  lost  our  General; 
and  who  did  not  give  up  thai  notion  until  we 


146  ®l)*  4t)i)ite  terror 

pretty  well  had  made  mince-meat  of  them!  We 
showed  them  that  soldiers  of  the  Republic,  with 
a  general  or  without  one,  cannot  be  conquered: 
because  their  fight  is  made  against  tyrants  for 
holy  Liberty  and  for  the  brotherhood  of  men! 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  our  strong  faith  in 
the  cause  we  were  fighting  for  we  never  could 
have  got  ourselves  out  of  the  hole  in  which  Du- 
mouriez  left  us.  There  we  were  in  front  of  the 
Austrian  and  Prussian  armies — who  had  new 
recruits  coming  up  all  the  while  to  take  the  place 
of  the  men  we  killed  for  them,  and  who  had  a 
plenty  of  ammunition,  and  who  were  never 
short  of  food.  As  for  us,  we  were  in  want  of 
everything.  For  days  together  there  would  not 
be  enough  bread  to  go  round  among  us.  Some 
of  us  were  hungry  all  the  time.  Worse  than 
that,  we  were  short  of  ammunition — not  many 
powder-sausages  for  our  cannon,  and  no  balls 
at  all.  Why,  we  fought  ever  so  many  battles 
just  with  our  muskets  and  bayonets  and  with 
never  a  cannon  shot  fired!  That  we  were 
hungry  did  not  make  much  difference;  but  it 
played  the  very  devil  with  us  to  have  our  poor 
cannon  fairly  crying  for  food ! 

"By  the  same  token,  it  was  along  of  the 
hunger  of  our  cannon  that  I  got  rid  of  my  arm. 
It  happened  this  way :  We  were  under  the  walls 
of  Valenciennes — we'd  got  out  of  Holland  by 
that  time — and  the  Austrians  had  batteries  every- 
where. From  all  of  them  they  blazed  away -at 
us  at  their  ease,  and  not  a  gun  could  we  serve 
back  at  them.  All  that  we  had  to  answer  with 
was  little  lead  peas  from  our  muskets — and  for 
all  the  good  they  did  they  might  as  well  have 


fjoro  .frenchmen  .fought  for  France    147 

been  real  peas,  and  boiled  ones  at  that!  Our 
men  were  pretty  nearly  desperate.  Some  of 
them  tore  their  hair,  some  wept  in  their  rage, 
some  shook  their  fists  in  the  face  of  Heaven ! 
But  what  good  did  that  do  ?  On  came  the  storm 
of  Austrian  balls ! 

"  Then  it  was  that  Pascalet  had  a  wild  devil 
of  an  idea.  'Friends,'  he  cried,  'we've  got 
faith  in  what  we're  fighting  for,  and  we've  got 
courage  and  strength  for  our  fight.  But  we 
haven't  cannon  balls,  and  we've  got  to  have  'em 
— and  I'm  going  to  show  you  how  they  can  be 
had.  Mark  my  words,  in  an  hour  or  two  the 
Austrians  will  be  running  away! ' 

"We  all  thought,  of  course!  that  he  had  gone 
clean  crazy.  But  he  hadn't.  Standing  his  mus- 
ket, bayonet  down,  in  the  earth,  away  he  ran  to 
a  sandy  slope  into  which  the  Austrian  cannon- 
balls  were  dropping  like  hail.  And  what  did 
that  little  rascal  do  but  grub  three  balls  out  of 
the  sand  and  come  running  back  with  'em  to 
our  dumfounded  cannoneers!  'Here,'  says  he 
— 'here's  something  to  feed  your  cannon  with. 
Feed  'em,  and  crack  away! ' 

"'Vive  Pascalet!  Vive  Pascalet!'  we  all 
roared  together,  while  the  gunners  rammed 
down  the  Austrian  balls  into  their  guns  and  then 
sent  them  flying  back  into  the  Austrian  lines! 

"  Well,  you  may  be  sure  that  when  Pascalet 
had  shown  us  how  to  play  that  game  he  was 
not  left  to  play  it  alone.  Off  we  went  to  the 
sand  hill,  with  a  skip  and  a  jump — each  of  us  in 
a  hurry  to  dig  our  potatoes  to  feed  our  guns!  It 
was  lively  work,  I  can  tell  you!  As  we  would 
be  grubbing  up  one  ball,  down  would  plump 


148  ®l)c  tOljite  terror 

another  close  beside  it,  half  blinding  us  with  the 
dust  that  it  sent  flying.  But  we  didn't  mind  a 
little  thing  like  that!  '  Vive  la  Republique! '  we 
shouted — and  on  we  went  with  our  game!  I 
tell  you,  I  fairly  cried  like  a  baby  as  I  saw  how 
all  of  a  sudden  our  men  had  got  back  their  fight- 
ing spirit — and  were  just  dancing  with  eager- 
ness to  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  cannon-balls 
and  rush  the  Austrian  line! 

"  My  one  eye  got  so  full  of  tears  that  I  couldn't 
see  to  do  my  digging.  I  tried  to  put  up  my 
hand  to  wipe  my  tears  away,  and — I  hadn't  any 
hand!  It  wasn't  there  any  longer — and  my  arm 
was  gone  too!  'This  is  as  strong  as  pepper! ' 
says  I,  but  what  I  was  saying  1  scarcely  knew. 
Then,  in  a  dim  sort  of  way,  I  saw  Pascalet,  his 
face  all  over  dust  and  streaked  with  sweat, 
standing  beside  me;  and  from  ever  so  far  off,  as 
it  seemed,  I  heard  him  say :  '  Margan — your 
arm!' 

"Then  things  got  clearer.  '  Holy  Saint  Per- 
lipopette!'  says  I.  'It's  gone!  A  cannon  ball 
must  have  sliced  it  off! ' 

"And  that  was  just  what  had  happened! 
One  of  those  cursed  Austrian  balls  had  cut  it  off 
close  to  the  shoulder — and  so  quickly  that  I 
didn't  feel  it  go!  I  did  feel  something,  to  be 
sure — a  sharp  rap,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  as  if  one 
of  my  comrades  had  hit  against  me  by  accident, 
but  that  was  all. 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  was  a 
sort  of  flabbergasted.  It  takes  a  man's  breath 
away,  a  little,  to  lose  his  arm  like  that — without 
knowing  anything  about  it!  But  it  gave  me 
something  fresh  to  think  about,  and  put  a  stop 


fjoro  fencljmen  bought  for  France     149 

to  my  tears.  'Well,'  says  I  to  Pascalet,  'here's 
a  pretty  go! ' 

"  Pascalet  was  more  cut  up  about  it,  I  think, 
than  I  was.  But  he  wanted  to  make  things 
pleasant  for  me,  and  so  he  said:  '  Well,  it's  only 
an  arm,  Margan.  It's  lucky  it  wasn't  your  head ! ' 
And  he  talked  away  to  comfort  me — while  the 
balls  came  bouncing  down  all  around  us— and 
set  to  work  to  plug  me  up,  so  as  to  stop  the 
blood  that  was  pouring  out  of  me  in  a  stream. 
The  best  that  he  could  do  was  to  pack  dry  sand 
from  the  hillside  on  my  stump,  and  that  did  stop 
the  bleeding.  At  least,  1  think  it  did.  Just  as 
he  was  finishing,  and  I  was  trying  to  say  '  Thank 
you,'  all  of  a  sudden  I  seemed  to  tumble  down 
into  darkness — and  then  I  didn't  know  anything 
at  all! 

"An  hour,  two  hours,  I  don't  know  how 
long  after  that,  I  felt  something  cool  on  my  face 
and  found  that  my  wits  were  coming  back  to 
me.  I  opened  my  eye,  and  the  first  thing  I 
saw  with  it  was  that  kind  little  mug  of  Pascalet's. 
The  Austrians  had  cleared  out,  the  battle  was 
over,  and  that  good  little  youngster  had  come 
back  to  find  if  anything  was  left  of  me — and 
Cambronne,  another  good  fellow,  had  come  with 
him  to  lend  a  hand. 

" '  Margan !  Margan ! '  he  cried.  '  It's  all  right. 
We've  whipped  the  Austrians! ' 

"  '  Vive  la  Republique! '  I  said  back  to  him, 
and  tried  to  put  out  my  right  arm  and  get  up. 
It  was  queer  to  find  that  I  hadn't  any!  Pascalet 
and  Cambronne  had  to  help  me  up  between 
them,  and  when  I  was  on  my  legs  1  saw  that  I 
still  had  something  to  be  thankful  for.  '  I'm 


tOI}ite  terror 


blind  of  one  eye,'  says  I,  '  and  one  arm  's  gone. 
But  I've  got  my  two  legs  left  to  stand  and  fight 
on!  Vive  la  Republique!  '  You  see  I  thought 
that  with  a  good  pair  of  legs,  and  a  good  eye, 
and  a  good  arm,  I  still  might  go  on  fighting  for 
holy  Liberty.  But,  pecaire!  they  wouldn't 
have  me  any  longer  in  the  ranks!  I  begged  and 
prayed  to  stay,  and  Pascalet  begged  and  prayed 
for  me  —  saying  that  my  left  arm  was  worth 
more  than  any  ten  right  arms  he'd  ever  seen. 
But  it  wasn't  any  good.  I  had  to  clear  out.  My 
fighting  for  Liberty  was  at  an  end  ! 

"Pascalet  and  Cambronne  bore  me  com- 
pany, sadly,  to  the  cart  full  of  wounded  men  in 
which  I  was  sent  to  Paris.  We  hugged  all 
around  —  though  my  hug  was  a  poor  one  —  and 
we  parted  with  full  hearts."  Margan  paused, 
and  then  choked  a  little  as  he  added:  "  It  will 
be  a  long  hunt  that  anybody  will  have  before 
finding  any  two  comrades  as  true  to  each  other 
and  as  close  to  each  other  as  Pascalet  and  me!  " 

Margan  was  silent  for  near  a  minute.  Then, 
in  a  light  tone  that  was  a  little  forced,  he  went 
on:  "Well,  all  that  is  over  and  done  with. 
They  got  my  stump  in  good  order  in  Paris,  and 
then  on  I  came  to  Avignon.  The  first  thing  I  did 
in  Avignon  was  to  go  to  Vauclair's  house  in  the 
Place  du  Grand  Paradis.  A  pretty  state  of  things 
I  found  there!  The  house  was  empty,  and 
sacked,  and  half  in  ruin.  There  was  no  Vau- 
clair,  no  Lazuli,  no  sign  of  the  girl  that  Pascalet 
thinks  such  a  heap  of  and  sent  the  message  to. 
I  was  brought  up  with  a  round  turn  and  didn't 
know  what  to  do  with  myself  —  until  the  notion 
came  into  my  head  that  I'd  walk  on  out  here 


tyom  .frenchmen  bought  for  France     151 

and  give  you  news  of  your  boy.  Like  enough 
he'll  be  coming  back  to  you  himself  before  long. 
The  war  up  there  is  ended  by  this  time.  Our 
soldiers  of  the  Republic  saw  the  heels  of  the  last 
Austrian,  and  I  have  heard  that  our  army  is  on 
its  way  back  to  Paris.  There's  a  good  chance 
that  Pascalet  will  be  with  you  for  the  chestnut- 
ting  at  Martinmas — or  for  the  Calends  of  Christ- 
mas, anyway." 

"Truly,  do  you  think  he  will  come  back  to 
us  ?  "  asked  La  Patine,  in  a  quavering  voice  that 
told  how  deep  was  her  feeling. 

"I'm  as  sure  of  his  coming  back  to  you  as 
I'm  sure  of  the  five  fingers  on  my  left  hand!" 
Margan  answered  heartily. 

"And  oh,"  cried  Adeline,  "if  he  comes  at 
Christmas  time  we'll  all  lay  the  yule  log  together 
on  Christmas  Eve!  " 

"It  will  be  a  fine  day,"  sighed  old  Pascal, 
' '  that  brings  home  again  my  boy — who  got  into 
trouble  and  had  to  go  away  all  along  o'  me ! " 
The  simple  old  man  fell  to  crying  as  he  spoke; 
and,  as  his  strong  emotion  sent  his  blood  to  his 
head,  the  scars  left  by  the  Vicomte's  whip-lash 
on  his  poor  old  face  stood  out  with  a  ghastly 
distinctness.  Adeline's  heart  went  chill  as  she 
saw  those  cruel  scars,  and  knew  that  the  whip 
which  had  made  them  had  been  in  her  own 
brother's  hand! 

"Well,  well,"  said  Margan  kindly,  "that 
fine  day  is  coming,  and  is  coming  soon.  It 
won't  be  long  before  you  have  your  Pascalet 
back  again  from  the  wars,  safe  and  sound. 

"And  now,  friends,"  he  went  on,  "I  must 
be  marching.  I've  got  the  Grande  Combe  to  cross 


15 2  ®t)e  tDljit*  terror 

before  nightfall,  and  must  be  off.  So  good-bye 
to  you  all." 

"  But  you  must  not  leave  us  without  break- 
ing bread  with  us,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet; 
"and  you  must  have,  too,  another  sup  of  wine 
before  you  go." 

"As to  the  drink,"  Margan  answered,  "you 
may  be  sure  I'm  not  for  refusing  it;  but  the 
bread,  by  your  leave,  I'll  put  in  my  pocket  and 
make  my  supper  on  it  as  I  go  along." 

Adeline  opened  the  wallet  and  brought  out 
for  him  a  good  chunk  of  sweet  bread,  and  as 
many  almonds  as  his  pocket  would  hold — giv- 
ing him  gladly  all  her  own  share,  for  it  seemed 
to  her  that  in  a  way  she  was  giving  food  to  Pas- 
calet  himself.  Monsieur  Randoulet  handed  him 
the  bottle,  and  with  a  nod  to  the  company  he 
kissed  it  long  and  lovingly — standing  straight 
as  a  cock,  with  his  nose  in  the  air  and  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  blue  sky.  "  That  was  to  our  good 
luck,  and  to  our  meeting  soon  again,"  he  said  as 
he  put  down  the  bottle.  "  And  now  I'm  off." 

They  all  embraced  him  and  kissed  him  on 
the  cheek — La  Ratine  and  Adeline  weeping  like 
Magdalens,  because  it  seemed  to  them  that  they 
were  kissing  Pascalet — and  then  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet walked  with  him  a  little  way  to  set  him 
on  his  road. 

"  You  go  down  by  this  path,"  said  Monsieur 
Randoulet,  "into  the  valley  of  the  Nesque,  and 
you  follow  the  dry  bed  of  the  river  through  the 
gorge  below  the  Crows'  Chapel." 

"The  Crows'  Chapel,  Monsieur.  What  is 
that?" 

"It  is  a  cave,  high  up  the  mountain  side. 


frenchmen  ^ouglit  for  France     153 


Our  country  people  have  given  it  that  name. 
There,  at  the  mouth  of  the  gorge,  you  turn  to 
the  left  —  passing  an  old  tower  on  a  little  hill  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain  and  leaving  on  your 
right,  high  up  among  the  rocks,  the  village  of 
Venasque.  You  will  know  it  by  the  pointed 
belfry  of  its  church  tower,  to  which  you  will 
see  —  if  your  eyes  are  sharp  —  wolves'  heads  nailed 
fast.  There,  at  the  entrance  to  the  Grande  Combe, 
the  valley  will  open  out  wide  before  you  ;  and 
you  will  go  on  through  La  Grande  Combe  to 
Senanque.  About  midway  you  will  come  to  the 
Dripping  Rock.  Since  the  world  began  that 
rock  never  has  ceased  to  drip;  and  the  drops  of 
water,  ever  falling,  have  hollowed  out  from  the 
hard  stone  a  little  basin  to  which  all  the  birds  of 
the  mountains  come  to  slake  their  thirst.  But 
hurry  past  it,  do  not  let  night  catch  you  there." 

"Yes,  yes,"  Marga'n  answered,  "I  under- 
stand. There  are  wolves." 

"  No,  I  do  not  warn  you  against  the  wolves. 
Worse  than  wolves  are  there  —  the  Whites!  " 

"Oh,  if  it's  only  the  Whites  I  don't  mind. 
Let  'em  come!"  and  with  these  words  Margan 
was  off  at  a  good  pace  down  the  steep  path. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    FLIGHT   FROM   THE   GENDARMES 

MONSIEUR  RANDOULET  came  back  to  the 
others.  For  a  while  they  were  silent  as  they 
turned  over  in  their  minds  all  that  Margan  had 
told.  The  Cure  was  the  first  to  speak.  ' '  Well, " 
he  said,  "we  didn't  bring  our  wallet  of  food 
along  just  to  look  at.  We  brought  it  to  eat — 
and  we'd  better  eat  it  now." 

At  his  word  Adeline  brought  out  what  was 
left  of  the  loaf  and  divided  it  into  four  portions, 
of  which  she  kept  the  smallest  for  herself.  She 
had  no  desire  to  eat.  An  exquisite  emotion  filled 
her — a  joy  that  she  scarcely  could  control.  But 
there  was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  it  because  she 
was  forced  to  keep  it  to  herself;  because  she 
could  not  ask  for  sympathy  in  the  glad  thoughts 
of  Pascalet  which  filled  her  heart.  And  also, 
because  of  the  intensity  of  her  happiness,  a 
shadow  of  dread  hung  over  her:  as  though  joy 
so  great  must  be  paid  for  promptly  with  pain. 

As  they  finished  their  little  repast  the  sun 
was  edging  down  toward  the  plain.  Monsieur 
Randoiilet  put  the  empty  bottle  back  into  the 
wallet,  and  then  rose  from  his  stone  seat.  Fil- 
lipping  the  dust  from  his  breeches  with  his  fin- 
gers, he  said:  "Come,  child,  now  we  must  go 
home  to  Janetoun." 
154 


flight  from  tljc  (Senbarmcs       155 


As  he  spoke,  they  all  heard,  from  far  off 
among  the  olive-trees,  a  sound  as  of  some  one 
calling.  La  Patine.  who  had  gone  back  to  the 
threshing  of  her  little  harvest,  stopped  pounding 
the  wheat  ears  with  her  sabot  and  listened  in- 
tently. "  I  think  some  one  is  calling  you,  Mon- 
sieur le  Cure,"  she  said. 

Presently  the  calling  came  again,  nearer  and 
louder.  They  all  heard  the  words:  "  Monsieur 
Randoulet!  "" 

"That's  Janetoun,''  said  the  Cure;  and  he 
stood  on  lip-toe,  the  better  to  see  down  the 
path. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  La  Patine.  "I  can  see 
her  now.  She's  got  a  bundle.  Goodness, 
what  a  hurry  she's  in!" 

"Ah,"  sighed  Adeline,  "she's  bringing  us 
bad  news! " 

"  Most  likely  some  dying  man  has  sent  for 
me,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet.  He  walked 
quickly  down  the  path;  and  the  old  woman, 
seeing  him,  came  stumbling  still  faster  to  meet 
him.  "Softly!  softly,  Janetoun!"  he  called 
out  to  her.  "Don't  run  like  that.  And  with  a 
bundle,  too!  You'll  make  yourself  ill." 

Janetoun  did  not  try  to  answer.  She  kept 
what  little  breath  she  had  left  in  h$r  until  she 
was  come  close  to  him ;  and  then  she  panted 
out:  "  The  gendarmes!  They're  here!  They've 
come  for  Adeline,  and  for  you  too!  " 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  Randou- 
let. "Who  told  you  ?" 

"No  one  told  me,"  Janetoun  gasped  out. 
"I  saw  them.  I  saw  them  coming  along  the 
Carpentras  road.  They  are  at  the  inn.  Melio, 


156  ®lje  tOljit*  terror 

the  innkeeper's  wife,  came  to  warn  me  that 
they've  come  for  you  and  Adeline.  Hurry! 
Hurry!  You've  barely  time  to  get  away!  " 

Monsieur  Randoulet,  speechless,  raised  his 
clasped  hands  for  an  instant  in  supplication  to 
heaven.  Then,  with  Janetoun  panting  behind 
him,  he  hurried  back  along  the  path.  As  he 
neared  the  little  group  of  anxious  watchers  he 
called  to  Adeline:  "The  gendarmes  are  search- 
ing for  us,  my  child.  My  good  Janetoun  has 
brought  us  warning.  We  must  get  away  from 
here,  and  into  hiding,  at  once." 

"It  is  Calisto  who  is  seeking  me  again," 
cried  Adeline.  "  I  am  sure  of  it!  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  exclaimed  Janetoun,  "that  is 
the  name.  That's  the  very  name,  Calisto,  that 
Melio  said!  He's  got  twelve  gendarmes  with 
him,  and  an  old  man  with  a  red  cap.  And 
they've  come  to  arrest  Monsieur  Randoulet  and 
you! " 

Adeline  turned  very  white  as  Janetoun  spoke, 
but  she  did  not  lose  either  her  courage  or  her 
strength.  Taking  Monsieur  Randoulet's  hand 
in  hers,  and  kissing  it,  she  said:  "Monsieur 
Randoulet,  kind  and  good  friend,  you  must  not 
and  you  shall  not  suffer  for  my  sake.  I  shall  go 
alone  into  the  mountains.  Perhaps  the  wolves 
there  will  settle  all  for  me! " 

"  Hush,  my  child,"  the  Cure  answered.  "  i 
know  my  duty,  and  I  shall  do  it.  Those  who 
make  a  prisoner  of  you  must  also  make  a  pris- 
oner of  me."  And  then,  turning  to  Janetoun,  he 
added:  "Tell  me,  do  those  who  are  searching 
for  her  know  that  Adeline  is  here,  at  the  hut  of 
La  Garde?" 


®lje  .£ligl)t  from  itye  (Senbarmes       157 

"No — but  they  are  looking  for  her  every- 
where and  are  questioning  everybody.  They 
are  certain  to  learn  that  you  passed  along  the 
Pramari  Road.  They  are  very  likely  to  learn 
that  you  came  on  up  here." 

"  Yes.  But  who  can  tell  them  that  it  is  Ade- 
line who  is  with  me  ?  Everybody  believes  that 
she  is  a  boy." 

"Not  now.  Not  any  longer.  This  Calisto 
knows  all  about  her  being  in  boy's  clothes.  He 
told  the  innkeeper's  wife  that  it  was  a  girl  in 
boy's  clothes  they  were  looking  for.  And  he 
said  that  she  was  Mademoiselle  la  Comtessine 
d'Ambrun." 

Old  Pascal  and  his  wife,  listening  to  this  talk, 
stared  in  wonder.  And  when  Janetoun  plumped 
out  that  the  pretty  boy  they  had  grown  to  be  so 
fond  of  was  their  own  Comtessine,  down  they 
both  went  to  her  on  their  knees. 

But  there  was  no  time  to  talk  with  them 
about  this  wonder.  Monsieur  Randoulet  knew 
that  Janetoun  was  right,  and  that  for  himself  and 
Adeline  the  only  chance  for  safety  was  in  instant 
flight. 

"  Get  up,"  he  said  to  the  kneeling  peasants. 
"Get  up  and  give  us  charity.  We  are  God's 
poor — a  priest  and  a  Comtessine  who  ask  alms 
of  you  to  help  them  to  save  their  lives.  If  you 
have  a  loaf,  give  it  to  us :  for  we  must  get  away, 
this  instant,  into  the  mountains;  and  if  we  are 
happy  enough  to  escape  death  at  the  hands  of 
the  Whites  and  at  the  fangs  of  the  wolves,  we 
must  not  die  for  want  of  food." 

La  Patine  was  on  her  feet  and  off  into  the 
hut  before  he  had  ceased  speaking.  In  a  mo- 


158 


ment  she  had  pulled  down  the  last  of  her  black 
loaves  —  from  where  it  was  hung  to  a  rafter,  that 
the  rats  might  not  reach  it  —  and  had  come  back 
with  it  in  her  hands.  "  Here  is  all  that  we  have, 
Monsieur  le  Cure,"  she  said,  ''and  I  give  it  to 
you  with  my  whole  heart." 

"God  himself  will  return  it  to  you,"  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  answered,  and  turned  away 
from  her  that  she  might  not  see  his  tears. 

Adeline  flung  herself  into  La  Ratine's  arms 
and  pressed  close  against  her  heart.  But  it  was 
only  for  an  instant  that  their  embrace  lasted. 
Down  the  mountain  side,  far  below  the  olive- 
trees,  Monsieur  Randoulet  had  caught  a  flashing 
glimpse  of  armed  horsemen  on  the  Pramari 
Road.  He  seized  Adeline's  hand  and  drew  her 
quickly  on  toward  the  narrow  path  which  led 
on  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains.  There 
was  not  a  moment  to  lose! 

Old  Janetoun,  still  panting,  walked  with 
them  for  a  few  steps  as  she  said  farewell.  She 
put  the  bundle  that  she  had  brought  into  Ade- 
line's hands,  saying,  "This  is  your  frock, 
Mademoiselle;"  and  she  believed  that  still  in 
the  bundle  were  Adeline's  three  silver  crowns. 
Then  the  honest  old  soul  gave  to  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet, knotted  fast  in  a  handkerchief,  the  little 
sum  which  Lazuli  and  Jean  Caritous  had  left 
with  her.  The  thought  of  what  would  happen 
to  herself,  thus  left  moneyless,  never  crossed 
her  mind.  Then  she  turned  back  sadly  toward 
the.  hut;  and  by  the  time  that  she  was  come  to 
it  the  fugitives  had  disappeared  among  the  thick- 
growing  bushes  and  trees.  Strong  gusts  of 
wind  were  beginning  to  blow  through  the  for- 


QTl)e  -fligljt  from  tl)e  <£>en5arnus       159 

est,  and  the  low-hanging  sun  was  sinking  into 
a  mass  of  black  clouds  touched  here  and  there 
by  an  angry  red.  After  that  long  hot  day  a 
storm  was  rising.  Far  away,  down  the  wind, 
was  the  growl  of  thunder.  Old  Pascal  wel- 
comed the  storm.  "It  will  give  them  a  chance, " 
he  said.  "  Monsieur  le  Cure,  who  knows  every 
foot  of  the  country  side,  can  find  his  way  in  the 
dark.  These  strangers  cannot  follow  him.  Yes, 
it  will  give  them  a  chance!  " 

Old  Pascal  was  right.  Calisto  and  the  gen- 
darmes, when  they  reached  the  hut  and  found 
that  those  for  whom  they  searched  had  vanished, 
wasted  no  time  in  words.  In  a  moment  they 
had  scattered  and  were  beating  through  the 
bushes  and  trees — hurriedly  and  eagerly,  be- 
cause of  the  thickening  darkness  and  the  rising 
storm.  Had  they  known  it,  only  a  few  steps 
away  from  them,  down  in  the  valley  of  the 
Nesque,  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline  were 
crouching  close  against  a  rock — fearful  to  move 
lest  they  should  be  seen.  Visibly  the  anger  of 
God  showed  itself  in  the  black  cloud,  swollen 
with  rain  and  hail,  that  rose  above  Mont  Ven- 
tour.  From  the  mountains  sounded  faintly  the 
dismayed  barking  of  foxes  and  the  deeper  howls 
of  wolves.  But  Calisto,  a  fiercer  beast  than  any 
wolf,  was  not  put  back  from  his  cruel  work  by 
the  storm  and  the  darkness.  From  a  little 
height  he  directed  the  searchers,  shouting  to 
them  to  do  their  work  well.  The  searched-for 
ones  could  see  him,  his  figure  outlined  black 
against  the  sky,  and  could  hear  his  words: 
"Zou!  Zou!  Z6u!  Stick  your  swords  into  all 
the  bushes — and  draw  them  out  red!"  It 


160  ®|)e  tOljite  terror 

seemed  to  those  hunted  ones  that  he  certainly 
must  see  them  also.  They  crouched  closer; 
and  still  closer  as  they  heard  the  tread  of  horses 
coming  directly  toward  them  down  the  ravine. 
God  himself  seemed  to  have  loosed  the  furies  of 
hell  upon  them.  They  were  desperate.  With 
clasped  hands  they  knelt  together.  All  hope 
left  them.  Together  they  murmured:  "Our 
Father  who  art  in  Heaven,  Thy  will  be  done!  " 

They  prayed,  and  it  seemed  as  though  a 
wrathful  God  heard  and  disdained  their  prayer! 
At  that  instant  the  whole  mountain  side  was 
aglare  with  a  tremendous  flash  of  lightning — 
so  vivid  that  for  an  instant  the  black  ravine  of 
the  Nesque  was  as  light  as  day.  Calisto  and  his 
men  saw  them,  and  with  a  shout  came  rushing 
toward  them — while  the  thunder  crashed  in  a 
deafening  peal ! 

But  that  dazzling  flash,  which  seemed  to 
bring  their  ruin,  brought  their  salvation.  In  the 
darkness  that  succeeded  it — for  black  night  by 
this  time  was  upon  them — their  pursuers  for  a 
moment  were  at  fault.  Monsieur  Randoulet 
saw  his  opportunity  and  seized  it.  In  spite  of 
his  age  and  his  feebleness,  he  raised  Adeline — 
half  dead  with  fear — in  his  arms,  and  bore  her 
away  rapidly  down  the  ravine.  He  knew  the 
ground  thoroughly.  Often  had  he  wandered 
there,  reading  his  breviary.  Among  the  bushes, 
and  between  the  fragments  of  rock  which  en- 
cumbered the  dry  bed  of  the  torrent,  he  steered 
a  true  course.  While  the  gendarmes  still 
were  fumbling  in  the  darkness  about  the  spot 
where  he  and  Adeline  had  been  revealed  by  the 
flash  of  lightning,  he  was  come  safely  to  the  foot 


®f)e  .flight  from  tlje  ©cnbarmes       161 

of  the  steep  slope  leading  upward  to  the  Crows' 
Chapel — the  deep  hollow  in  the  mountain  side 
high  up  among  the  wild  crags  above  the  Nesque. 

To  carry  Adeline  up  that  steep  ascent  was 
impossible.  He  laid  her  down  gently  on  the 
perfumed  lavender  growing  there,  and  stood 
panting  beside  her — listening  the  while  to  the 
distant  shouts  of  the  gendarmes.  They  seemed 
to  have  gone  the  other  way  along  the  ravine. 
That  meant,  for  the  moment  at  least,  safety. 
Presently  Adeline  sighed  gently,  and  then  spoke: 
' '  Are  you  here,  Monsieur  Randoulet  ?  Have  we 
got  away  from  them  ?  "  And  then  she  heard 
the  distant  shouting  of  the  gendarmes,  and  gave 
a  frightened  little  cry. 

"Courage,  my  child !"  the  Cure  answered. 
"They  have  missed  us  and  here  we  are  at  the 
foot  of  the  path  leading  up  to  the  Crows'  Chapel. 
If  once  we  can  get  up  there  we  may  be  saved. 
I  know  a  hidden  way  among  those  rocks  that 
even  the  goats  have  never  found." 

"I  can  be  strong  unto  death,  Monsieur  le 
Cure,"  Adeline  answered.  "All  that  I  ask  of 
God  is  that  he  will  not  let  me  fall  into  the  hands 
of  that  murderer.  Come,  let  us  start  at  once. 
You  will  see  how  strong  I  am."  As  she  spoke, 
she  got  upon  her  feet  and  began  tq  mount  the 
ascent  rapidly — catching  at  the  tufts  of  thyme 
and  lavender  growing  beside  the  path.  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  followed  her,  but  slowly  and 
with  shortening  breath.  About  them  the  light- 
ning played  in  vivid  flashes,  and  the  roar  of  the 
thunder  echoed  from  side  to  side  of  the  ravine 
and  set  the  whole  mountain  to  trembling  be- 
neath their  feet. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

IN   THE   CROWS'    CHAPEL 

AT  last  they  reached  the  top  of  the  long  slope, 
wearied  and  breathless,  and  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment before  they  pressed  on  through  the  tan- 
gled growth  which  screened  the  mouth  of  the 
Crows'  Chapel.  As  they  halted,  great  drops  of 
rain  began  to  fall,  and  in  the  wind  was  a  sudden 
chill — the  chill  that  comes,  in  our  mountains, 
before  a  cloud-burst.  But  they  were  safe  at  last, 
and  Monsieur  Randoulet  raised  his  hands  grate- 
fully toward  heaven  as  he  exclaimed:  "  Oh  God, 
I  thank  thee  for  this  deliverance!  " 

"Qui  vive?"  came  in  a  rough  voice  from 
among  the  bushes — and  as  they  turned  in  fright 
toward  the  sound  a  flash  of  lightning  showed 
them  a  man  in  a  cocked  hat,  a  gendarme  they 
took  him  for,  standing  half  hidden  among  the 
branches  ir>the  mouth  of  the  cave. 

"  Qui  vive  ?  "  the  man  repeated — and  by  an- 
other lightning-flash  they  saw  that  he  covered 
them  with  a  pistol. 

"  We  are  honest  people,  and  we  mean  you 
no  harm,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  said  firmly.  "  If 
you  also  are  honest,  you  will  let  us  enter  and 
shelter  ourselves  here  from  the  storm." 

"  I  am  the  Revolution!  "  the  man  answered. 
"  I  abhor  priests!  1  abhor  Aristocrats!  If  you 
162 


Stt  t\)e  (STrotDS1  (Eljctpel  163 

are  of  these,  and  advance  another  step,  I'll  kill 
you  as  I  would  kill  a  dog! " 

"Well  then,  wretch,  kill  me  as  you  would 
kill  a  dog,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  exclaimed.  "  I 
am  a  priest — a  priest  of  the  most  high  God!  " 

"And  I,"  exclaimed  Adeline,  "am  an  Aris- 
tocrat—forsaken and  miserable.  I  wish  to  die. 
Kill  me,  and  you  will  save  me  from  worse  than 
death!" 

Monsieur  Randoulet  held  aside  the  branches 
as  he  spoke  and  advanced  into  the  thicket,  Ade- 
line following  him  closely.  At  that  instant  came 
a  flash  of  lightning  so  vivid  that  the  mountain 
side  was  all  ablaze  with  it,  and  Adeline  and  the 
Cure  and  the  dark  gendarme  could  see  each 
other  as  plainly  as  though  it  had  been  broad  day. 

"  Monsieur  Randoulet!  "  exclaimed  the  gen- 
darme. And  Adeline  and  the  Cure  cried  out  to- 
gether "  Margan! " 

"Well,  come  now,"  said  Margan,  stuffing 
his  pistol  back  into  his  sash,  "  why  didn't  you 
say  it  was  you  ?  " 

"  Who  could  imagine  that  you  could  be  here, 
Margan  ?  "  Monsieur  Randoulet  answered. 

"You  told  me  that  there  was  a  cave  here- 
abouts," Margan  explained,  "and  .when  I  saw 
the  storm  coming  I  remembered  about  it.  Says 
I  to  myself:  '  I'll  get  the  good  of  that  cave  for  the 
night  and  keep  dry  there.  That'll  be  better  than 
getting  lost  in  these  big  mountains  and  soaked 
in  weather  that  is  the  curse  of  God ! '  And  so  I 
cast  about  for  the  path,  and  found  it — and  here 
I  am.  But  why  you  two  are  here,  who  could 
have  a  good  roof  to  shelter  you,  is  more  than  I 
can  understand! " 


164  ®l)e  tttyite  terror 

"  I  will  make  that  clear  to  you,  and  more 
beside."  Monsieur  Randoulet  answered.  "  1  did 
not  tell  you  our  secret  this  afternoon.  Then 
there  was  no  need  for  it.  There  is  a  need  for  it 
now.  She  whom  you  saw  with  me  dressed  as 
a  boy,  she  who  is  beside  you  now,  is  the  girl  to 
whom  Pascalet  sent  his  message — Adeline,  the 
daughter  of  the  murdered  Marquis  d'Ambrun. 
Her  unhappy  mother  has  deserted  her.  She  is 
pursued  by  her  father's  servant,  who  was  his 
murderer,  and  by  another  like  him,  who  seek  to 
kill  her  and  so  to  gain  possession  of  her  estates. 
Against  these  the  good  Vauclairs  gave  her  shel- 
ter while  they  could ;  then,  being  no  longer  able 
to  protect  her,  Vauclair's  brave  wife  Lazuli 
brought  her  to  Malemort  and  gave  her  into  my 
care.  Here  we  thought  that  she  would  be  hid- 
den and  in  safety.  But  we  were  wrong.  Bare- 
ly had  you  left  us  this  afternoon  when  we  had 
warning  that  the  gendarmes  were  come  to  Male- 
mort in  search  of  her.  They  followed  her  to 
the  hut  of  La  Garde.  They  almost  had  their 
hands  upon  her.  Only  by  the  grace  of  God  did 
we  escape  from  them  and  get  safely  here." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  say,"  Margan  burst 
out,  "that  these  are  men  of  the  Revolution 
who  are  persecuting  the  girl  whom  Pascalet,  a 
good  Revolutionist,  loves  with  his  whole  heart 
— whom  he  lives  for,  and  for  whom  he  would 
die  ?  " 

"  So  they  call  themselves,  my  good  Margan, 
but  they  are  false  to  their  name — the  name  that 
they  have  taken  as  a  cloak  under  which  they 
may  undo  what  the  Revolution  has  done.  They 
are  traitors  who,  as  I  verily  believe,  are  paid  by 


165 


the  Aristocrats  to  bring  the  cause  of  holy  Liberty 
into  disrepute  —  to  cast  discredit  on  our  new 
gospel,  written  in  paraphrase  of  the  older  gos- 
pel, that  we  call  '  The  Rights  of  Man  '  !  " 

"But  what's  the  Convention  doing?"  cried 
Margan  angrily.  "Are  guillotines  so  scarce 
that  they  can't  kill  off  this  vermin  of  spies?" 

"  Do  not  cast  stones  at  the  Convention.  The 
Convention  is  sublime  —  for  it  is  France,  it  is  the 
Republic,  it  is  our  all.  Should  the  Convention 
fall,  everything  would  fall.  Then  the  kings  of 
Europe  would  march  conquering  against  us. 
Then  the  mire  of  Paris  would  spread  over  all 
France.  Then  the  dogs  of  Aristocrats  and  their 
foul  following  would  rise  out  of  the  earth  like 
serpents  and  scorpions.  All  would  be  lost.  On 
the  ruins  of  the  Republic  once  more  would  rise 
a  tyrant's  throne!  Oh  holy  Convention!  Oh 
glorious  Convention  !  Oh  vengeful  arm  of  God  ! 
Finish  to  the  full  your  work  of  justice!  " 

Under  the  great  arch  of  the  cavern  —  of  which 
a  whole  mountain  peak  was  the  keystone  —  with 
the  lightning  playing  about  him,  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  stood  erect,  commanding:  speaking  in  a 
vibrant  voice  which  rose  above  the  roar  of  the 
tempest  and  which  only  the  volleying  thunder 
drowned.  The  storm  was  upon  (them  in  its 
wildest  fury.  A  mighty  and  a  rushing  wind 
tore  through  the  forest,  uprooting  huge  oaks  and 
rending  away  branches  with  a  snapping  like 
musketry.  The  cloud-burst  had  filled  the  bed 
of  the  Nesque  with  a  tumultuous  torrent  which 
swept  tree-trunks  and  rocks  before  it.  The 
heavens  were  aflame  with  lightning,  and  the 
crashing  thunder  shook  the  great  mountain  to 


1 66  ®J)e  toljite  terror 

its  base.  The  solid  earth  seemed  to  be  crum- 
bling before  devouring  water  and  devouring 
fire. 

But  the  very  fury  of  the  tempest  carried  it 
soon  away  from  them.  Onward  it  swept  across 
the  mountain  tops  toward  the  dark  Luberon. 
Presently  the  clouds  thinned  a  little,  and  then 
broke  suddenly — and  in  the  rifts  shone  stead- 
fastly the  placid  stars.  Between  the  claps  of 
distant  thunder  they  listened  anxiously  for  the 
sound  of  voices,  but  heard  only  the  gurgling  of 
water  in  the  gorge  below  them  and  the  sough- 
ing of  the  wind.  Then  they  knew  that  their 
pursuers  had  been  turned  backward — had  fled 
before  the  wrath  of  God ! 

"We  must  leave  you  now,  Margan,"  said 
Monsieur  Randoulet.  "  This  is  our  opportunity. 
Before  daylight  comes  we  must  be  in  a  sure  hid- 
ing place,"  where  we  will  be  safe  from  those  wild 
beasts  of  men." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  leave  me  at  all. 
I  am  going  with  you,"  Margan  answered;  and 
added:  "  Uo  you  think  that  I  am  going  to  let 
you  go  off  by  yourselves  ?" 

"No,  no,  Margan.  You  have  your  own 
furrow  to  plough.  What  you  offer  us  from 
your  good  heart  we  cannot  take.  Remember, 
too,  that  we  are  out  of  danger  now." 

"All  the  same,  I'm  going  along  with  you," 
said  Margan  sturdily.  "I  shall  make  sure  that 
you  really  do  get  safe  away  from  that  dog  of  the 
devil  who  is  following  you,  and  then  I'll  come 
back  and  give  him  the  dressing  that  he  deserves. 
But  where  are  you  heading  for  ?  Why  not  come 
on  with  me  to  Marseilles  ?  That's  the  town  for 


tl)e  (Erotos1  (Cljupcl  167 


you.  It's  crammed  with  good  honest  folks  as 
full  as  it  will  hold!" 

"No,  no  town  is  safe  for  us,"  Monsieur 
Randoulet  answered.  "In  the  great  labyrinth 
of  the  city  of  Paris  those  who  are  seeking  this 
unhappy  girl  found  her;  in  the  town  of  Avignon 
they  found  her  again;  to-day  they  once  more 
have  found  her  in  the  little  village  of  Malemort. 
Our  only  chance  of  safety  is  here  in  the  moun- 
tains among  the  wolves  and  foxes.  Here  we 
may  hope  that  she  will  not  be  tracked  and  found. 
1  have  in  mind  a  refuge  for  her  —  a  lonely  farm- 
house not  far  from  the  village  of  Bedoin,  high 
up  on  the  slope  of  Mont  Ventour.  Good  people 
live  there  who  will  shelter  us  and  protect  us. 
But  we  must  hasten,  now  while  the  way  is  open 
to  us.  Our  chance  for  safety  lies  in  getting  to 
that  haven  before  the  coming  of  the  dawn. 
Come,  my  little  Adeline,  we  must  be  off!  " 

"Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  the  poor  girl  sadly, 
"  I  wish  most  that  I  might  die!  " 

"  Die  ?  That  is  a  wicked  word  —  and  not  the 
word  that  I  expected  from  a  brave  girl  like  you. 
Courage,  my  child!  We  must  submit  to  the 
will  of  God.  Who  knows  what  He  may  have 
in  store  for  you  ?  He  may  be  saving  you  now, 
in  order  that  some  day  you  may  sa«ve  Pascalet. 
Come,  we  will  start  at  once." 

"Forgive  me,  Monsieur.  It  was  wicked  in 
me  to  have  that  thought.  I  am  ready." 

"Yes,  and  so  am  I,"  said  Margan.  "I  will 
go  with  you,  at  least,  until  we  are  in  sight  of 
Bedoin.  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  get  to  Marseilles. 
The  bowl  of  bouilleabaisse  that  I  meant  to  sup 
to-morrow  on  the  Cannebiere  will  wait  for  me 


1 68  ®l)e  tOfyite  terror 

— as  it  has  waited  for  many  a  long  day.  A 
pretty  thing  it  would  be  for  Pascalet  to  hear 
that  I  had  let  his  Adeline  go  off  without  me  into 
the  loneliness  of  these  mountains  and  into  the 
darkness  of  this  night." 

"  If  you  insist  upon  going  with  us,"  said 
Monsieur  Randoulet,  hesitatingly,  "  it  is  not  for 
me  to  refuse  your  offer.  But — 

"  All  right,  then,  Monsieur,"  Margan  struck 
in,  "off  we  go  together.  I'll  carry  the  little 
one's  bundle;  and  I'd  carry  that  loaf  of  bread, 
too,  if  only  I  had  another  hand." 

"As  to  the  bread,"  said  Monsieur  Randou- 
let, "  perhaps  I  had  better  break  it,  that  we  each 
may  eat  a  piece  as  we  go  along." 

But  breaking  the  bread  was  easier  said  than 
done.  Even  with  a  stone  Monsieur  Randoulet 
could  not  crack  it;  and  when  he  flung  it  against 
the  side  of  the  cavern  with  all  his  strength  it 
bounded  back  like  a  ball! 

"Ouh!"  cried  Margan.  "We  had  loaves 
like  that  up  in  the  Dutch  country  of  marshes, 
where  we  waded  in  mud  to  our  thighs.  We 
took  our  swords  and  our  bayonets  to  it — but 
here  we  have  neither  bayonet  nor  sword." 

"We  do  not  need  it  now,"  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet said,  "  and  our  time  is  too  precious  to  be 
wasted." 

"March,  then!"  Margan  cried  cheerily,  and 
they  set  off  down  the  steep  slope — digging  their 
heels  into  the  hillside  and  sending  a  hail  of  little 
stones,  loosened  by  the  rain,  slithering  down 
into  the  foaming  torrent  which  filled  the  bed  of 
the  Nesque.  Their  way  still  was  down  the  val- 
ley of  the  Nesque,  but  the  walking  was  difficult 


3n  tl)e  Croas1  (tljapd  169 


because  they  no  longer  could  follow  the  bed  of 
the  stream.  As  best  they  could,  they  forced  a 
passage  through  the  bushes  growing  on  the 
mountain  side  —  coming  now  and  again  to  a 
ravine  down  which  a  little  torrent  poured  to  join 
the  greater  one  below.  Across  these  streams 
Monsieur  Randoulet  carried  Adeline,  while  Mar- 
gan  walked  beside  the  Cure  steadying  and 
supporting  him.  And  so,  at  last,  they  came  to 
the  bridge  at  Methamis  and  crossed  the  river. 
Thence  onward  the  way  was  easier  —  through 
the  forest  of  Blauvac,  and  between  the  hills  of 
Villes  and  of  Mormoiron  —  and  as  dawn  was 
breaking  they  came  in  sight  of  the  village  of 
Bedoin. 

Hidden  away  in  the  forest  which  in  those 
days  covered  the  whole  slope  of  Mont  Ventour, 
this  village  was  a  refuge  for  the  persecuted  —  for 
"  suspects,"  for  Moderates,  for  Whites.  It  was 
a  forlorn  place,  built  on  the  sides  of  a  crusty  little 
conical  hill,  crowned  by  a  great  church  and  a 
graveyard.  A  wall  surrounded  it,  and  outside 
of  one  of  its  gates  was  planted  a  liberty  Tree. 
But  for  all  that  the  village  had  a  reputation  for 
tolerant  friendliness,  they  gave  it  a  wide  berth  — 
passing  on  by  the  Moustier  (where,  as  they 
learned  later,  mass  was  said  every  night,  and 
where  was  a  regular  place  of  meeting  for  the 
many  fugitives  hidden  in  the  mountains  round- 
about) and  so  to  the  top  of  the  hill  beyond. 

"And  now,  Margan,"  said  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet, stopping  short,  "you  must  leave  us. 
Day  is  breaking,  and  we  are  within  two  gun- 
shots of  the  end  of  our  journey  —  the  farm  of 
Peire-Avon  in  the  mouth»of-the  Combe  de  Cur- 
I 


i7°  ®l)e  tOljite 


mier.  You  must  leave  us  while  the  shadows 
still  shelter  you  and  be  off  on  your  way  to  Mar- 
seilles." 

"  I  shall  stay  by  you  until  I  see  you  safe  at 
the  end  of  your  road,"  said  Margan  positively. 

"No,  if  you  wish  to  please  us,  you  will  leave 
us  now.  I  want  to  be  sure  that  you  are  safely 
out  of  this  forest  before  daylight  comes.  If  you 
were  to  meet  a  party  of  deserters,  or  a  party  of 
Aristocrats,  as  very  well  might  happen,  your 
uniform  of  a  soldier  of  the  Republic  would  be 
your  death-warrant.  For  our  sakes,  I  ask  you 
to  hurry  away." 

"Well,  since  you  put  it  that  way,"  said  Mar- 
gan slowly,  "I  suppose  I  must  go.  But  1  want 
you  to  understand  that  I'm  not  running  away 
because  of  these  bags  of  wind!  " 

"To  be  prudent  is  not  to  be  cowardly," 
Monsieur  Randoulet  answered.  "Good-bye  to 
you  —  and  God  be  with  you  in  all  your  ways!  " 

The  two  men  embraced  warmly,  and  then 
Adeline  came  forward  and  put  up  her  pretty 
cheek  to  be  kissed  by  the  big  Marseilles. 
"Should  you  see  Pascalet,"  she  whispered  in 
his  ear  as  she  stood  on  tip-toe,  "you  will  tell 
him,  will  you  not,  that  we  are  hidden  here  in 
the  Combe  de  Curmier?" 

"Yes,  that  I  will,  my  pretty  little  one!" 
Margan  answered  heartily.  But  he  added  to 
himself:  "  If  ever  I  do  see  him!"  —  and  turned 
from  Adeline  quickly  to  hide  from  her  the  tears 
in  his  one  eye.  And  then,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  to  them,  he  was  off. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A   PERILOUS   WALK   THROUGH   THE    FOREST 

FOR  a  moment  or  two  Monsieur  Randoulet 
and  Adeline  stood  watching  Margan's  tall  figure 
stalking  away  in  the  early  morning  twilight 
through  the  cool  shadows  of  the  forest  ;  then 
they  turned  their  backs  on  him,  and  by  another 
path  went  on  toward  the  Combe  de  Curmier. 

It  was  a  lucky  thing  for  Margan  that  he  had 
taken  the  Cure's  advice  and  had  left  them  when 
he  did.  They  were  separated  from  him  by  only 
a  little  distance  when  they  heard  the  sound  of 
many  voices  singing  together,  off  ahead  of  them 
among  the  trees.  The  sound  grew  louder  and 
clearer,  and  presently  they  could  distinguish  the 
words : 

"  Let  us,  adoring,  praise 

God  whose  strong  arm 
Virtue  and  innocence 

Shields  from  all  harm. 
Our  sweet  Saint  Genevieve  ' 

Knew  his  kind  care — 
Let  us  through  her  to  Him 

Make  now  our  prayer!  " 

' '  It  must  be  people  returning  from  the  mass, " 
said  Monsieur  Randoulet.  But  he  spoke  doubt- 
ingly,  and  looked  about  him  for  a  thicket  that 
might  serve  them  for  a  hiding-place.  However, 
there  was  no  time  for  hiding.  In  another  mo- 
12  171 


i72  ®lK  tobite  terror 

ment  the  singers  rounded  a  bend  in  the  path  but 
a  few  steps  away,  and  the  next  instant  Adeline 
and  the  priest  were  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of 
ill-looking  young  men — all  armed  in  one  way  or 
another,  and  all  wearing  red  fleur-de-lys  in  their 
hats  and  red  crosses  on  their  breasts. 

And  it  was  no  mass  that  this  ruffian  party  of 
Whites  had  come  from !  They  were  returning 
from  robbing  the  house  of  the  tax-gatherer  of 
Caromb ;  and  because  the  poor  tax-gatherer  had 
fought  bravely  in  defense  of  the  money  of  the 
Republic  they  had  brought  him  along  with  them 
— his  hands  tied  behind  him,  and  a  rope  made 
fast  to  one  of  his  ankles  as  though  he  were  a  pig 
being  taken  to  market.  The  tax-gatherer  had 
lapsed  into  the  silence  of  despair,  but  the  sight 
oi'  the  good  priest  gave  him  a  little  heart  again 
and  he  fell  on  his  knees  among  his  captors  and 
began  afresh  his  entreaties.  ' '  If  not  for  my  own 
sake,"  he  cried,  "grant  me  mercy  for  the  sake 
of  my  three  little  children  who  have  no  mother! 
The  oldest  of  them  is  only  nine  years  old! 
What  will  become  of  them  without  me  ? 
Mercy,  oh  mercy! " 

But  his  captors — save  to  cuff  him  into  silence 
— paid  no  attention  to  him.  Crowding  around 
Adeline  and  Monsieur  Randoulet,  brandishing 
their  clubs  and  shouting  "Vive  le  roi!"  and 
"Down  with  the  Republic! "  they  asked  threat- 
eningly: "Who  are  you?  Whence  do  you 
come?" 

"We  are  honest  travellers,"  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet. "I  am  the  Cure  of  Malemort.  We 
ask  nothing  from  you.  Let  us  pass  on  in 
peace." 


01  perilous  iDalk  through  tfye  forest    173 

"The  Cure  of  Malemort,"  cried  one  of  the 
crowd.  "  Why,  he's  a  Blue!  " 

"  He's  not.     He's  a  Red!  "  shouted  another. 

"  I  am  neither  a  Blue  nor  a  Red,"  said  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet.  "I  am,  as  every  one  of  you  is, 
a  servant  of  the  omnipotent  God!  " 

At  that  a  brutal-looking  fellow,  who  seemed 
to  be  the  captain  of  that  vile  company,  pressed 
forward  exclaiming:  "  You  are  one  of  the  rascal 
turncoat  priests  who  took  the  oath  to  the  Re- 
public! You'll  come  along  with  us — and  we'll 
give  you  the  hanging  that  you  deserve!  " 

Before  Monsieur  Randoulet  could  make  any 
reply,  Adeline  sprang  in  front  of  him  and  cried: 
"Lou  Mourre,  how  dare  you!  You  shall  not 
harm  a  hair  of  his  head!  I,  Adeline  d'Ambrun, 
forbid  you!  " 

The  man  shrank  back,  instinctively  obeying 
this  word  of  strong  command.  But  Monsieur 
Randoulet,  laying  his  hand  on  Adeline's  shoul- 
der, said  gently:  "Hush,  my  child.  I  must 
speak  to  these  men,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make 
to  them."  And  then,  turning  to  the  others, 
went  on:  "Listen!  Hang  me,  if  you  will.  My 
death  will  injure  no  one.  But,  in  exchange  for 
my  life,  promise  me  that  you  will  set  this  poor 
man  free;  and  promise  me  that  you(  will  take 
Adeline  d'Ambrun  safely  to  the  farm  of  Peire- 
Avon — where  she  may  rest  secure  until  peace 
comes  back  among  men.  In  the  name  of  hu- 
manity and  of  brotherhood,  grant  me  what  I 
ask!" 

"Didn't  I  say  that  he  was  a  Blue?"  called 
out  one  of  the  company.  "Now  you  see  I'm 
right.  If  he  wasn't  a  Blue  he  wouldn't  try  to 


174  ®l)e  tt)l)itc  terror 

save  the  tax-gatherer's  life.  Let's  up  with  'em 
both  on  the  same  tree!  " 

"Silence!"  cried  the  captain.  "I  am  the 
one  to  give  orders  here.  For  the  sake  of  my 
mistress  the  Comtessine  he  shall  finish  his  work. 
Let  him  loose,  to  follow  his  road — and  may  he 
never  have  the  ill-luck  to  fall  in  with  us  again! " 

"But  first  we'll  search  him,"  said  the  man 
who  carried  on  his  shoulder  the  bag  of  money 
stolen  from  the  tax-gatherer.  "  His  pockets  are 
not  likely  to  be  empty,  and  he  may  have  papers 
about  him  that  we  ought  to  see." 

To  this  reasonable  suggestion  no  one  object- 
ed, and  the  search  was  made  quickly  and  thor- 
oughly. They  found  no  papers;  but  they  did 
find  the  handkerchief  into  which  Janetoun  had 
knotted  the  silver  left  by  Lazuli  and  Jean  Cari- 
tous,  and  this,  and  the  loaf  of  hard  bread,  they 
took  with  a  laugh.  Then  off  they  went — pay- 
ing no  heed  to  Monsieur  Randoulet's  entreaties 
to  take  him  and  to  hang  him  in  the  poor  tax- 
gatherer's  place.  As  suddenly  as  they  came,  they 
went  again  into  the  forest — singing  all  together: 

"  Let  us,  adoring,  praise 
God  whose  strong  arm 
Virtue  and  innocence 
Shields  from  all  harm !  " 

Monsieur  Randoulet  knelt  down  in  the  leaf- 
strewn  path  and  prayed:  "My  Lord  God,  have 
pity  on  them  and  forgive  them  what  they  do ! 
I  forgive  them  freely  for  the  wrong  which  they 
have  committed  in  taking  from  me  the  money 
and  the  bread.  I,  thy  priest,  in  thy  holy  name 
which  is  blessed  forever,  absolve  them  from  that 


perilous  tDalk  tljrauglj  the  forest    175 


sin!  "  As  he  spoke,  he  made  with  two  fingers 
the  sign  of  the  cross  in  the  direction  whence 
came,  fainter  and  fainter,  the  sound  of  the  holy 
song. 

"That  man  was  Lou  Mourre,  our  swineherd 
at  La  Garde,"  said  Adeline.  "  It  was  he  who 
gave  Pascalet  a  savage  beating  one  day,  long 
ago,  when  the  hungry  little  fellow  tried  to  snatch 
a  cabbage  stalk  from  our  pigs." 

"Yes,  I  remember  him  now,"  Monsieur 
Randoulet  answered;  "and  1  remember  that  he 
always  was  harsh  and  cruel.  The  poor  tax- 
gatherer!  There  is  no  hope  for  him!"  And 
Monsieur  Randoulet's  lips  moved  in  prayer  as 
they  walked  on  toward  the  farm  of  Peire-Avon. 

Daylight  had  come.  The  starlings  and  the 
linnets  and  all  the  other  little  birds  of  the  forest 
were  flying  out  from  the  clumps  of  holm  oak 
and  were  off,  singing,  to  the  plains.  Far  away 
sounded  the  barking  of  a  hound,  telling  of  a 
hunter  come  early  to  the  chase.  Now  and  again, 
through  the  openings  between  the  trees,  the 
peak  of  Mont  Ventour  was  visible — tinted  like 
a  may-flower  by  reflections  from  the  rosy 
clouds. 

"  Hark!  "  said  Monsieur  Randoulet,  stopping 
short.  "I  think  I  hear  the  sound  of  iheep-bells. 
We  are  close  to  the  farm  now." 

They  stood  still,  listening.  In  the  leaves 
above  them  they  heard  the  soft  thrill  that  comes 
at  sunrise.  Then  the  chatter  of  a  jay,  grating 
harshly  on  that  deep  forest  silence.  And  then, 
with  the  clearness  of  a  clarion,  sounded  the 
crowing  of  a  cock.  A  moment  later  a  dog 
barked  sharply,  and  when  the  barking  ceased 


176  ©l)C  tOtjite  terror 

they  heard  the   creaking  of  a  pulley  and  the 
splash  of  a  bucket  in  a  well. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet  cheer- 
ily. "Here  we  are  at  last."  But,  instead  of 
following  the  path,  he  approached  the  farm- 
house cautiously  through  the  thick  bushes. 
Adeline  followed  him  closely,  warding  off  the 
back-springing  branches  with  her  upraised 
arms.  From  the  wet  leaves  the  rain-drops  came 
down  on  them  in  little  showers. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  standing  just 
within  the  edge  of  the  forest  and  saw  close  in 
front  of  them,  surrounded  by  a  high  stone  wall 
pierced  by  a  single  arched  gateway,  the  great 
farm-house:  a  large  and  comfortable  building 
roofed  with  red  tiles  and  having  above  its  roof 
a  massive  stone  pigeon-house  as  big  as  a  church 
bell-tower.  Although  the  sun  still  was  behind 
the  mountains,  the  little  rosy  clouds  which  told 
of  his  coming  had  signalled  to  the  living  things 
of  the  farm  establishment  that  it  was  time  to 
wake  up.  Already  the  chickens  and  the  pigeons 
were  picking  up  their  breakfasts;  on  the  well- 
curb  stood  the  peacock,  as  motionless  as  though 
he  were  made  of  enamelled  bronze;  from  the 
long  low  sheep-fold — into  which  the  sheep  had 
been  penned  because  of  the  furious  storm — came 
a  low  tinkling  of  bells.  Presently  a  shepherd 
lad  came  out  from  the  farm-house;  and  the 
sheep,  recognising  his  footsteps,  set  up  a  pro- 
digious baa-ing:  an  anxious  chorus  in  which 
were  blended  the  deep  bass-notes  of  the  rams, 
the  trembling  higher  notes  of  the  ewes,  and  the 
clear  treble  of  the  lambs.  When  the  door  of 
the  fold  was  opened,  out  they  came  in  a  hurry — 


&  perilous  tOalk  tbrottgli  U)e  forest    177 

eager  to  nibble  at  the  fresh  grass — and  with  the 
shepherd  lad  following  them  moved  toward  the 
edge  of  the  forest  where  Adeline  and  Monsieur 
Randoulet  were  hidden  among  the  trees. 

All  was  so  peaceful  that  the  Cure  no  longer 
hesitated.  Coming  out  from  the  bushes,  with 
Adeline  close  behind  him,  he  advanced  toward 
the  shepherd,  saying:  "God  be  with  you,  little 
friend." 

For  a  moment  the  boy  was  startled.  Then, 
with  a  smile,  he  said:  "Good  morning,  Mon- 
sieur le  Cure.  The  Master  will  be  glad  to  see 
you,  though  he'll  wonder  how  you  got  here  at 
this  time  of  day  from  Malemort." 

"  How  do  you  know  we  come  from  Male- 
mort ?  " 

"Why,  Monsieur,  don't  you  know  me? 
I'm  Cadoche,  your  own  Janetoun's  nephew. 
It  would  be  a  pretty  thing  if  I  didn't  know 
where  you  came  from — our  own  Cure!  " 

"  Cadoche  ?  So  you  are.  But  how  you've 
grown!  You  are  quite  a  man,"  and  Monsieur 
Randoulet  laid  his  hand  kindly  on  the  lad's 
shoulder. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  I'm  almost  grown  up, 
now,"  the  lad  answered,  much  flattered  by 
Monsieur  Randoulet's  recognition  of  his  manli- 
ness. "  Why,  only  yesterday — what  do  you 
think?  I  killed  a  hare!" 

"Oh,  come  now,  not  really  a  hare.  No 
doubt  it  was  a  leveret." 

"  No,  Monsieur,  it  was  not  a  leveret.  It 
was  a  hare.  A  nine-pound  hare!  It  is  in  the 
house  now.  Tell  the  Master  to  show  it  to 
you! " 


1  78  ®l)e  tOljite 


"  Well,  well,  we  will  go  and  see  this  won- 
derful hare,"  and  smiling  kindly  at  the  boy 
Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline  went  on  to- 
ward the  farm-house. 

"I  remember  Cadoche  very  well,"  Adeline 
said,  a  little  hesitatingly.  "He  and  Pascalet 
made  their  first  communion  together.  He  is 
wearing  the  very  same  suit  of  clothes  that  he 
wore  that  day." 

"  How  can  you  know  that,  child  ?" 

"  Very  easily,  Monsieur.  I  made  those 
clothes  myself,  and  you  gave  them  to  him.  1 
knew  them  at  once,  although  now  they  are  all 
in  rags.  They  are  just  like  the  clothes  that  I 
made  for  Pascalet  —  the  clothes  that  I  have  on 
now.  Suppose  the  people  here  notice  that  ? 
It  makes  me  feel  ashamed!"  And  tears  began 
to  trickle  down  Adeline's  cheeks,  and  she  flushed 
a  little,  as  she  thought  of  her  far-off  Pascalet  and 
of  what  these  strange  people  might  say. 

"  Come,  my  child,  this  will  never  do!  You 
must  not  get  foolish  fancies  into  your  head,  and 
you  must  not  show  yourself  to  these  good 
people  with  tears  in  your  eyes.  They  will  not 
notice  your  clothes,  I  promise  you  —  and  this 
very  day  you  may  put  on  your  frock  again,  for 
I  shall  tell  them  who  you  are." 

Monsieur  Randoulet's  words  comforted  Ade- 
line and  soothed  her.  They  halted  for  a  few 
moments  outside  the  arched  gateway,  while  she 
dried  her  eyes  and  grew  calm  again  ;  then  they 
entered  the  court-yard  and  crossed  it  to  the  farm- 
house door.  As  is  the  custom  in  Provence  in 
summer,  the  door  was  open  and  in  the  doorway 
hung  a  curtain  to  keep  out  flies.  The  Cure 


01  fjerilotts  tOalk  t^rongl)  tl)e  .forest    179 

raised  the  curtain,  and  said  as  they  entered  what 
was  at  once  the  kitchen  and  the  living-room : 
"  God  be  with  you,  Mestre  Toni,  and  with  all 
your  house! " 

In  the  room  the  whole  farm  family  was  at 
breakfast:  Mestre  Toni;  his  wife,  Jeanne-Marie; 
five  sons  and  two  daughters.  The  eldest  son, 
Marius,  was  a  man  of  thirty  years;  the  young- 
est, little  Dodo,  the  nestling,  was  not  yet  twelve. 
The  father  and  his  sons  were  seated,  the  mother 
and  her  daughters  were  standing,  at  the  long 
table  on  which  were  a  big  loaf  of  bread  and  a 
little  barrel  of  anchovies  and  a  jug  of  water — all 
of  them  "killing  the  worm,"  as  our  Provencal 
saying  goes,  before  beginning  the  work  of  the 
day. 

""Monsieur  le  Cure!"  exclaimed  Jeanne- 
Marie.  "Good  day  to  you!  Good  day  to 
you!  " 

"Monsieur  Randoulet!"  exclaimed  Mestre 
Toni.  "  Adessias,  Monsieur.  Why,  where  did 
you  come  from  so  early  ?  Surely  not  from 
Malemort!  But  wherever  you  come  from,  you 
are  welcome!  "  and  he  rose  from  the  table  and 
held  out  cordially  his  big  hard  hand. 

"Yes,  we  have  come  from  Malemort,  my 
good  Toni,"  Monsieur  Randouletf  answered. 
"We  have  been  walking  almost  the  whole 
night  long." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  that  trouble  of  some  sort 
is  brewing.  But  sit  down,  sit  down  and  have 
some  breakfast.  You  must  be  starving!  Jeanne- 
Marie,  bring  plates."  As  Mestre  Toni  spoke  he 
moved  up  a  little  on  the  long  bench  on  which 
he  and  his  sons  were  seated^  and  motioned  to 


i8o  ©he  tDhite  ©error 

his  sons  to  move  down.  Into  the  space  thus 
made  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline  squeezed 
themselves — their  backs  to  the  wall.  In  front 
of  them  was  the  huge  chimney-place,  high 
enough  for  a  man  to  stand  upright  within  it 
and  wide  enough  to  hold  a  whole  tree-trunk. 
Against  the  rear  wall  stood  the  dresser,  covered 
with  shining  vessels,  and  beside  it  the  cupboard 
of  waxed  walnut  wood — its  iron  lock  and  hinges 
shining  like  silver,  and  the  great  copper  cal- 
drons on  its  top  as  bright  as  the  setting  sun. 
In  the  front  wall  was  a  glazed  window,  hung 
with. a  blue  and  white  checked  curtain,  through 
which  and  through  the  open  doorway  the  morn- 
ing light  streamed  in. 

"Indeed  I  shall  sit  down  very  gladly,"  said 
Monsieur  Randoulet,  "and  so  will  this  poor 
child.  We  both  are  tired  out  after  our  long 
walk,  and  hungry  too." 

Adeline  cast  down  her  eyes  before  all  these 
peasants  who  stared  at  her.  She  had  said  good 
day  when  she  entered,  but  in  so  low  a  voice 
that  no  one  had  heard  her.  She  sat  absolutely 
silent — not  daring  even  to  glance  at  her  lively 
little  neighbour,  Dodo:  a  little  scamp  no  higher 
than  a  cabbage  stalk  who  gave  himself  the  airs 
of  a  man. 

"Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  Mestre  Toni,  "in 
good  time  you  will  tell  us  why  you  have  come 
here,  and  if  you  need  our  aid.  If  you  do,  you 
shall  have  it — that  you  know  well.  But  the 
first  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  eat  your  breakfast. 
Now  then,  who  will  cut  the  bread  for  these 
guests  of  ours  ?  " 

"I  will,"  cried  little  Dodo,  jumping  up  from 


&  perilous  tXJnlk  ttirottgli  tl]e  .forest    181 

his  place.  "I  will,  with  my  new  knife."  He 
seized  the  sweet  big  loaf,  almost  as  big  as  he 
was  himself,  and  made  over  it — as  he  had  seen 
his  father  do — the  sign  of  the  cross.  Then  he 
cut  two  great  chunks  from  it  and  laid  them  be- 
fore Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline. 

But  the  Cure  did  not  touch  his  portion,  nor 
the  toothsome  anchovy  that  was  set  before  him 
— smelling  deliciously  with  its  touch  of  vinegar, 
and  lying  in  olive-oil  as  clear  as  moonlight. 
Shaking  his  head  sadly,  because  of  the  sorrow 
that  was  in  his  heart,  he  turned  to  Mestre  Toni 
and  said:  "  Before  I  break  bread  with  you,  my 
poor  Toni,  I  must  speak.  You  must  know  whv 
we  are  come  here.  Listen !  The  times  are  bad. 
are  full  of  dangers  for  us  all.  This  child  and  I 
are  in  peril.  We  are  obliged  to  hide  ourselves." 

"  I  understand,"  Mestre  Toni  answered.  "  I 
understand  quite  well.  You  are,  as  the  saying 
goes  nowadays,  'suspects.'" 

"Yes,  friend,  in  part  you  are  right.  But 
with  this  poor  child  the  matter  is  far  worse. 
This  innocent  creature  is  condemned  to  death !  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AT   PEIRE-AVON   FARM 

As  Monsieur  Randoulet  spoke  these  words, 
sadly  and  gravely,  there  was  a  momentary  si- 
lence and  the  eyes  of  the  whole  family  were 
turned  upon  Adeline.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  the  death  sentence  could  have  been  pro- 
nounced upon  one  so  innocent  and  so  young. 

Mestre  Toni  was  the  first  to  speak.  "Are 
you  in  earnest,  Monsieur  ! "  he  asked  in  aston- 
ishment. "  Is  this  really  true  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  really  true,"  Monsieur  Randoulet 
answered  sorrowfully.  "But  I  have  more  to 
tell  you.  This  poor  child  is  not  a  boy,  but  a 
girl.  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  d'Am- 
brun,  who  was  lord  of  Malemort.  A  detach- 
ment of  gendarmes,  led  by  a  murderer,  is  search- 
ing for  her.  Only  last  evening  they  were  close 
upon  us.  In  the  darkness  and  the  storm  we 
escaped  from  them,  and  all  night  long  we  have 
been  walking  among  the  mountains.  We  do 
need  your  help,  if  you  can  give  it  without  dan- 
ger to  yourself.  What  we  ask  of  you  is  a  safe 
hiding-place." 

The  women   shivered  and  went  white  as 

Monsieur  Randoulet  spoke,    but  Mestre  Toni 

kept  both  his  courage  and  his  presence  of  mind. 

Speaking  quite  calmly,  he  said:  "Run,  Dodo, 

182 


farm  183 


and  throw  down  some  hay  to  the  horses  and 
mules  —  and  as  you  come  away  lock  the  stable 
door,"  and  as  the  little  fellow  went  off  nimbly 
to  execute  his  order  he  added  to  the  Cure: 
"There  are  four  gendarmes  asleep  in  the  hay- 
loft. They  are  searching  the  mountains  for  de- 
serters ancl  stopped  here  for  the  night.  But 
don't  be  uneasy.  The  key  will  be  turned  on 
them  in  a  moment  and  they  will  not  trouble  you. 
We  have  them  here  often,  and  as  I  always  treat 
them  well  they  do  us  no  harm." 

For  all  that  Mestre  Toni  spoke  so  quietly  and 
so  easily,  Monsieur  Randoulet  was  alarmed  —  not 
for  his  own  safety,  but  for  the  safety  of  his  host. 
Rising  from  the  table,  and  taking  Adeline's  hand, 
he  said  earnestly  :  "  My  good  Toni,  this  will  not 
do.  We  shall  compromise  you.  We  must  leave 
you  at  once!  " 

"What  do  you  mean!"  cried  the  farmer, 
with  a  bang  of  his  big  fist  on  the  table.  "  Don't 
you  know  me  well  ?  Do  you  think  that  I'm 
going  to  let  you  go  wandering  off  into  the  forest 
again  —  you  and  that  innocent  child  ?  Oh  no, 
that  is  not  the  wood  I'm  made  of!  If  a  whole 
brigade  of  gendarmes  was  at  the  door  we'd 
stand  them  off  —  me  and  my  five  sons!  Do  you 
see  that  row  of  guns  hanging  in  (;he  chimney- 
throat  ?  With  pepper-pots  like  that  all  handy 
we're  not  afraid  of  gendarmes  !  "  And  then, 
more  quietly,  he  added:  "But  there's  no  need 
for  fighting  now.  Those  fellows  in  the  hayloft 
did  not  get  here  until  midnight,  and  unless  I 
wake  them  they'll  snore  away  till  noon.  Long 
before  that  time  you'll  be  in  a  place  that  all  the 
gendarmes  in  France  might  look  for  without 


1 84  ®l)e  tOljite  terror 

finding.  So  sit  down,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  and 
eat  your  breakfast  in  peace.  When  you  have 
finished  it  comfortably,  Dodo  will  lead  you  to 
the  hiding-place  I'm  talking  about." 

"Why,  where  is  Dodo?"  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  asked,  as  he  took  his  place  again  at  the 
table.  ' '  What's  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  He's  doing  what  I  sent  him  to  do,"  Mestre 
Toni  answered.  "  He's  up  in  the  big  pear  tree 
beside  the  threshing-floor  watching  that  no 
strangers  surprise  us  until  you  are  safe  away." 

"  But  he'll  lose  his  breakfast,''  said  the  kind- 
hearted  Cure  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance  and 
regret. 

"Oh  no  he  won't.  He  took  a  big  piece  of 
bread  along  with  him,  and  he'll  eat  it  very  com- 
fortably up  there  among  the  birds.  Presently, 
when  you  have  finished  your  meal,  and  when 
he  has  made  sure  up  there  that  no  one  is  coming, 
he  will  lead  you  to  where  you  are  to  be  hidden 
• — the  Cave  of  Two  Holes.  There,  with  the 
good  souls,  three  poor  nuns  from  Avignon,  al- 
ready in  hiding,  you  will  spend  the  day.  When 
night  comes  I  wi'H  fetch  you  back  here  again,  to 
sup  and  to  sleep." 

"But  is  not  the  danger  by  night  as  great 
as  the  danger  by  day?"  asked  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet. 

"  It  is  greater,"  the  farmer  answered,  "but 
not  here  for  us  and  for  you.  As  I  have  told  you, 
when  the  gendarmes  come  I  treat  them  well, 
and  they  deal  with  me  kindly.  At  night,  if  they 
stop  here  to  rest,  I  put  them  in  the  hayloft — 
where  some  of  them  are  now.  They  do  not 
enter  the  house.  In  the  morning  I  give  them  a 


.farm  185 


good  breakfast  and  they  go.  As  for  the  others, 
they  fancy  that  I  side  with  them  and  they  let  me 
alone.  But  I  am  fortunate.  For  most  people 
living  in  lonely  places,  and  for  all  people  unlucky 
enough  to  be  overtaken  by  darkness  in  the  forest, 
the  night  is  full  of  peril.  Bands  of  deserters, 
bands  of  Aristocrats,  are  abroad  then  —  pillaging 
and  burning  and  killing  in  the  King's  name. 
They  call  themselves  the  '  Companies  of  Jehu  ' 
—  this  rabble;  and  they  claim  to  be  Royalists  or 
Papalists.  But  it  is  not  the  King  nor  the  Pope, 
but  the  devil,  whom  they  serve  —  as  they  go, 
gun  in  hand,  knife  in  teeth,  with  rosaries  about 
their  necks,  doing  evil  as  does  the  hail!  It  is 
more  than  I  can  understand  why  they  all  are  not 
swept  from  the  earth  by  the  thunder  of  God!" 

"Not  two  hours  ago,  "said  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet,  "  we  met  with  one  of  these  companies. 
They  had  been  robbing  the  tax-office  at  Caromb 
and  were  dragging  away  with  them  the  tax- 
gatherer,  bound  as  they  should  have  been  bound 
themselves." 

"  By  this  time  he  is  a  dead  man,"  said  Ma- 
rius.  "  They  have  strung  him  up  to  an  oak,  and 
under  him  have  lighted  a  fire." 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  Monsieur  Randou- 
let,  and  his  horror  was  so  great  thfit  he  turned 
very  pale. 

"No,  Monsieur,"  Marius  answered,  "it  is  not 
impossible  —  it  is  the  terrible  truth.  That  is  what 
these  wretches  do.  Lucky  are  the  unfortunates 
who  are  hanged  before  the  fire  begins  to  blaze! 
While  the  fire  burns  they  dance  around  it,  shout- 
ing '  Hurrah  for  the  King!  Hurrah  for  the  Aus- 
trians!  Down  with  the  Republic!'  and  then 


1 86  $t)*  tOljite  terror 

fall  to  yelling  like  the  fiends  that  they  are.  Often 
have  we  heard  their  cries — and  later  have  found 
the  half-charred  body  of  a  man  swinging  from 
an  oak-branch  above  the  still-smouldering  em- 
bers of  a  fire!" 

"And  they  come,  "exclaimed  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet,  "out  of  the  earth's  rottenness!  Those 
whom  we  met  this  morning  were  commanded 
by  a  cruel  brute  who  once  was  the  swineherd 
at  La  Garde !  Yet  even  he  was  not  wholly  given 
over  to  evil.  At  the  command  of  his  young 
mistress  here,  the  Comtessine,  he  suffered  us  to 
go  free. "  And  then,  as  he  remembered  another 
phase  of  the  encounter,  the  Cure  added:  "What 
little  money  I  had  about  me  was  taken.  You 
will  have  to  suffer  us  to  be  your  debtors,  my 
good  Toni,  for  our  food." 

"You  forget,  Monsieur,"  interrupted  Ade- 
line, "  I  still  have  my  three  crowns.  With  those 
we  can  pay  the  good  Mestre  Toni — at  least,  we 
can  pay  him  in  part." 

"There,  that  is  enough,"  said  Mestre  Toni 
very  decidedly.  "  Money  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
talked  about  here!  "  and  with  that  he  shut  his 
knife  with  a  snap.  When  the  master  of  a  Pro- 
vencal household  shuts  his  knife  it  means  that 
the  meal  is  ended,  and  at  that  sign  all  who  were 
seated  at  the  table  arose. 

"And  now,"  he  went  on,  "you  and  this 
pretty  boy-lady  must  be  going,  Monsieur.  It  is 
not  that  I  wish  to  get  rid  of  you,  as  you  well 
know;  but  with  those  four  gendarmes  asleep  in 
the  hayloft,  it  is  only  prudent  that  you  should  be 
hidden  away  before  they  wake  up.  Dodo,  here, 
will  lead  you  to  the  cave;  and  you  must  be  sure 


2tt  f)eire-Qlt)0n  farm  187 

not  to  venture  out  of  it  until  I  come  for  you  to- 
night." 

Never  in  nil  his  good  life  had  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  been  in  hiding!  Tears  came  to  his  eyes, 
and  in  his  heart  he  cried :  "  My  God,  what  have 
1  done  to  offend  thee  that  I  must  hide  myself  in 
caverns  with  the  foxes  and  the  wolves!"  But 
he  set  a  strict  guard  upon  his  lips  and  uttered 
no  complaining  word. 

Presently  they  were  off— Dodo,  called  down 
from  his  watch-perch,  leading  them  and  carry- 
ing a  fat  wallet  stuffed  with  food  for  their  mid- 
day meal.  Up  they  went  along  a  steep  and 
stony  path  through  a  thick  growth  of  beeches. 
The  wild  mint  and  the  flowering  broom,  grow- 
ing near  by,  filled  the  air  with  an  aromatic  per- 
fume as  the  strong  rays  of  the  sun — by  this  time 
well  risen  above  the  mountains — fell  on  them 
hotly.  Now  and  again  a  covey  of  partridges 
would  fly  up  suddenly,  with  a  loud  br-r-r-r! 
Off  on  the  left  of  the  path  rose  the  great  crest  of 
Mont  Ventour,  bare  rock  against  the  sky.  Lower 
down,  the  mountain  was  clad  with  a  growth  of 
big  trees — oak  and  beech  and  ash  and  larch. 
Here  and  there  upon  its  flanks  were  wide  spaces 
overspread  with  box  and  thyme  and  lavender 
and  wild  flowers  smelling  sweet.  Along  the 
pathway — among  the  leaves  which  gave  cover 
also  to  sleeping  vipers — bloomed  white  violets. 

To  Adeline  the  flowers  were  a  delight — her 
friends,  her  little  sisters  who  were  smiling  on 
her.  She  ran  hither  and  thither  gathering  them 
— here  a  gillyflower,  there  a  bunch  of  white  vio- 
lets, yon  a  branch  of  wild-roses  whose  delicate- 
ly gay  pink  blossoms  seemed  like  laughing  baby 


1 88  ©l)e  tObite  terror 

faces.  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Dodo,  walk- 
ing on  steadily,  drew  farther  and  farther  away 
from  her.  At  last  a  turn  in  the  path  hid  them 
from  her  altogether,  and  a  little  thrill  of  fear 
went  through  her  as  she  realized  suddenly  that 
she  was  alone.  She  hurried  on  after  them — 
and  her  thrill  of  fear  became  terror  as  she  saw, 
through  an  opening  in  the  forest  that  gave  her 
a  glimpse  down  the  mountain  side,  a  man  with 
a  gun  on  his  shoulder  coming  rapidly  up  the 
path.  In  an  instant  she  was  off  at  a  run;  and 
in  a  few  moments  had  overtaken  the  others. 
"A  man  is  following  us!"  she  panted.  "A 
man  with  a  gun !  " 

They  all  stood  still,  listening  intently.  At 
first  they  heard  nothing.  Then,  as  the  man 
came  to  a  rocky  part  of  the  path,  they  heard 
through  the  silence  of  the  forest  the  sound  of 
footsteps  and  the  rattle  of  little  stones.  The 
forest  about  them  was  open.  There  were  no 
bushes  which  would  serve  as  a  hiding-place. 
They  could  only  hurry  on — hoping  either  to  dis- 
tance their  pursuer,  or  to  come  to  some  cover 
that  would  shelter  them  while  he  passed  them 
by.  But  the  forest  was  more  and  more  open  as 
they  ascended,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  left  it 
altogether  and  came  to  a  part  of  the  path  which 
curved  around  one  of  the  peaks  of  the  mountain 
— following  a  narrow  ledge,  just  wide  enough 
to  walk  on,  with  a  sheer  wall  of  bare  rock  rising 
above  it  and  a  sheer  drop  of  a  hundred  feet  or 
more  to  the  ravine  below.  To  look  into  that 
dark  depth  made  Adeline's  head  swim.  With 
closed  eyes  she  followed  Monsieur  Randoulet, 
holding  fast  to  his  hand.  Their  feet  sent  stones 


QVt  JJeire-QltJon  .form  189 

from  the  path  rattling  down  into  the  gulf.  In  a 
minute  or  two  they  heard  the  sound  of  other 
stones  falling,  and  knew  that  the  man  was 
close  behind  them. 

"Dodo,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet,  "you 
and  Adeline  must  go  on  without  me.  Take  her 
to  the  cave  quickly.  I  shall  stand  guard  here." 

"  Do  not  send  me  away  from  you,"  Adeline 
entreated.  "  I  will  meet  this  danger  with  you," 
and  she  kept  a  tight  hold  upon  the  Cure's  hand. 

"You  must  obey  me,  and  instantly !"  said 
Monsieur  Randoulet,  in  a  tone  of  severe  com- 
mand that  Adeline  never  had  heard  him  use. 
As  he  spoke,  he  stood  at  the  outer  edge  of  the 
path  and  held  fast  above  her  head  to  a  projecting 
rock.  "Go  on!"  he  said  sternly.  In  another 
instant  she  had  passed  him.  Then  she  went 
onward,  holding  Dodo's  hand. 

Monsieur  Randoulet  gave  his  soul  into  God's 
keeping  and  waited.  The  footsteps  were  com- 
ing very  close  to  him.  He  did  not  believe  that 
he  had  many  more  minutes  to  live.  Suddenly 
the  man  coming  on  around  the  curving  path 
began  to  sing : 

"  Turn  the  wheel,  my  gossip  Jane, 
Spin  away!  j 

Turn  the  wheel,  my  gossip  Jane, 
Night  and  day!  " 

Monsieur  Randoulet's  tight-drawn  heart-strings 
relaxed  as  he  heard  this  old  country-side  song. 
"  A  man  bent  upon  evil  does  not  sing  songs 
like  that!"  he  thought.  He  was  right.  In 
another  moment  he  was  face  to  face  with 
Marius,  the  farmer's  eldest  son! 


i9° 


"Why,  Monsieur  Randoulet!"  exclaimed 
Marius.  "What  are  you  doing  here  alone  ? 
Where  are  the  others?"  And  then,  as  he  saw 
how  pale  the  Cure  was,  he  added:  "I  do  be- 
lieve I've  frightened  you!  " 

"You  have,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  answered 
simply.  "I  thought  that  you  were  a  White. 
I  sent  the  others  on  ahead  and  waited  here.  " 

There  was  a  tone  of  respect  in  Marius's  voice 
as  he  answered:  "  Whites  are  not  dangerous  by 
day,  Monsieur.  They  prowl  by  night  —  along 
with  the  other  wild  beasts.  Now  I  will  tell 
Dodo.that  there  is  no  cause  for  fear,"  and  he  put 
his  fingers  in  his  mouth  and  whistled  sharply 
fwice.  "Dodo  must  have  been  crazy,"  he 
added,  as  they  walked  on  together,  "to  bring 
you  by  this  path.  We  call  it  '  the  Devil's  Dyke' 
—it  is  the  worst  of  all." 

"Then  there  are  others?"  said  the  Cure, 
sighing  thankfully. 

"Certainly.  There  are  two  others  —  one 
over  the  mountain  top  and  the  other  down 
there  in  the  ravine.  The  little  scamp  should  be 
spanked  for  bringing  you  this  way." 

Dodo  undoubtedly  did  deserve  a  spanking 
for  his  bit  of  mischief—  it  was  just  that  —  and  he 
certainly  would  have  got  one  had  not  Monsieur 
Randoulet  begged  him  off.  As  it  was,  Marius 
gave  him  such  a  talking-to  that  he  was  a  very 
sober  and  crestfallen  little  lad  for  the  rest  of 
the  walk  ! 


CHAPTER   XIX 

IN   THE   CAVE   WITH   THE   TWO   HOLES 

THEY  all  went  on  together  a  little  farther, 
and  then  Marius  halted  the  party  where  a  thick 
clump  of  terebinth  and  a  big  black  bunchy  juni- 
per grew  together  on  the  mountain  side  a  little 
above  the  path.  "Here  we  are!  "  he  said. 

"Where  are  we?"  asked  Monsieur  Ratt- 
doulet  blankly. 

"At  the  mouth  of  the  Cave  with  Two 
Holes,  Monsieur." 

"  But  I  do  not  see  even  one  hole!  " 

"It  is  here,  Monsieur — hidden  by  the  tere- 
binth. Show  them  the  way  in,  Dodo." 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Monsieur  Randou- 
let.  "Now  that  1  know  where  the  entrance  is, 
let  me  try  to  find  it  for  myself."  But  he  could 
not  find  it,  though  he  searched  about  the  tere- 
binth and  the  juniper  carefully. 

With  a  laugh,  Dodo  opened  out  (the  thick- 
growing  branches  of  the  juniper  and,  stepping 
in  among  them,  disappeared! 

"It  is  a  safe  hiding-place,  Monsieur,"  said 
Marius.  "The  entrance  to  the  cave  is  there 
under  the  branches;  and  as  the  juniper  is  an 
evergreen  the  opening  always  is  concealed.  No 
one  knows  about  the  cave  save  ourselves,  and 
one  or  two  people  in  Bedoin,  and  the  wild 

191 


192  ®l)e  tOljile  terror 

creatures  of  the  forest.  As  my  father  told  you, 
all  the  gendarmes  in  France  might  come  here 
and  search  for  it  in  vain.  And  there  is  plenty 
of  room  down  there.  You  go  a  little  way  along 
a  narrow  passage,  and  then  you  come  to  a  large 
cavern  that  is  dimly  lighted  from  this  opening; 
beyond  it,  at  the  end  of  another  passage,  is  a 
still  larger  cavern  that  is  lighted  by  a  hole  high 
up  in  its  vault — a  hole  on  the  bare  peak  of  the 
mountain  that  cannot  be  reached  from  the  out- 
side by  anything  but  a  bird.  And  now,  Mon- 
sieur, if  you  please,  we  will  go  in." 

Marius  led  the  way,  holding  the  branches 
aside  for  Adeline  and  helping  her  to  descend 
through  the  narrow  opening  which  they  so  well 
concealed.  Monsieur  Randoulet  followed.  In- 
side they  found  Dodo  waiting  for  them.  To- 
gether they  passed  through  the  dimly  lighted 
outer  cavern,  and  the  passage  beyond  it,  and  so 
came  to  the  well-lighted  inner  cavern — where 
they  found  the  three  nuns  who,  as  the  farmer 
had  told  them,  were  in  hiding  there.  These 
holy  women,  who  were  refugees  from  the  Ursu- 
line  Convent  in  Avignon,  very  gladly  welcomed 
as  companions  in  their  prison-like  retreat  a  con- 
secrated priest  and — when  the  secret  of  her  dis- 
guise was  revealed  to  them — a  sweet  young 
girl  as  pure  and  as  lovely  as  the  saints  in  Para- 
dise. 

Dodo  deposited  the  wallet  of  food  on  a  rude 
mass  of  rock  in  the  centre  of  the  cavern  that 
served  for  a  table,  and  then  the  brothers  turned 
to  go  away. 

"Stop,  Marius,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet, 
"  you  are  forgetting  your  gun." 


In  the  Glaoe  roitf)  tl^e  ®mo  ^olcs      193 

"I  am  not  forgetting  it,  Monsieur.  I  am 
leaving  it  here  for  you." 

"  For  me  ?    What  need  have  I  for  a  gun  ?  " 

"  Guns  have  their  uses,  Monsieur — and  es- 
pecially in  these  bad  times.  Keep  it  here,  and 
should  you  go  out  from  the  cave  I  beg  of  you 
always  to  carry  it  with  you.  You  would  find 
out  your  need  for  it  in  a  hurry  should  you  chance 
to  meet  a  gendarme!  " 

"  But  1  would  not  use  it  even  though  I  did 
meet  a  gendarme.  God  preserve  me  from  the 
sin  of  killing  a  man!  " 

"  You  need  not  kill  any  one,  Monsieur.  But 
a  gun,  even  an  empty  gun,  is  a  good  thing  to 
frighten  people  with.  Should  you  go  out  from 
the  cave,  carry  it  with  you — that  is  my  last 
word.  And  now  good-bye  until  evening." 

Monsieur  Randoulet  made  no  reply  aloud, 
but  as  Marius  left  the  cave  he  exclaimed  in  his 
heart:  "A  gun!  Holy  Mary!  How  wicked  is 
man!  How  cruel!  But  in  my  hands,  at  least, 
this  gun  will  do  no  harm.  It  will  not  be  the 
Cure  Randoulet  who  will  kill  a  fellow  man!" 
Then  he  stood  the  gun  in  a  corner  of  the  cave 
and  turned  to  talk  with  the  three  nuns. 

They  had  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  these  poor 
Sisters.  The  youngest  of  them,  Sistpr  Margai, 
had  been  the  turkeyherd  at  Peire-Avon  as  a 
child;  and  when  they  escaped  from  Avignon 
she  led  the  others — Sister  Dorothy  and  Sister 
Scholastica — to  the  shelter  of  her  old  home.  For 
three  nights  they  had  walked  in  dread,  and  for 
three  days  they  had  lain  hidden  in  the  bushes  or 
among  the  growing  grain.  Their  black  habits 
and  their  black  veils  were  torn  by  the  briers, 


194  ®l)c  t01)ile  terror 

their  white  coifs  were  soiled  and  limp,  their 
leather  belts — from  which  their  rosaries  hung — 
were  fretted  by  the  twigs  and  thorns.  Sister 
Dorothy,  whom  the  others  called  Mother  Doro- 
thy, was  an  old  woman.  But  for  the  help  that 
they  had  given  her  she  could  not  have  accom- 
plished this  hard  journey.  Even  with  that  help 
it  had  made  her  suddenly  much  older,  and  all  of 
them  had  reached  the  haven  of  the  farm-house 
haggard  and  worn.  For  more  than  two  months 
they  had  been  in  hiding,  sleeping  in  the  farm- 
house and  spending  their  days  in  the  cave.  The 
kindness  of  the  farm-people  had  done  much  to 
restore  their  cheerfulness,  and  their  coifs  were 
spotless  again — but  the  carefully  darned  rents  in 
their  veils  and  in  their  habits  matched  outwardly 
the  scars  that  were  in  their  hearts.  Against  the 
wall  of  the  cave  they  had  fastened  up  a  picture 
of  the  blessed  Magdalen  in  her  hermitage-cavern 
of  the  Sainte  Baume — not  two  days'  journey  from 
the  cavern  in  which  they  were  lying  hid — and 
to  this  great  Provencal  Saint,  to  whom  the  earth 
had  given  shelter  as  to  themselves,  they  made 
their  daily  prayers. 

For  a  while  Saint  Mary  of  Magdala  was  for- 
gotten when  Monsieur  Randoulet  told  them  that 
his  young  companion  was  not  a  boy  but  a  girl, 
and" that  this  girl  was  the  Comtessine  d'Ambrun. 
In  a  moment  they  had  ranged  themselves  before 
her  and  were  making  her  profound  courtesies 
and  formal  compliments.  They  were  her  ser- 
vants, they  said;  and  gave  effect  to  this  declara- 
tion by  waiting  upon  her  when,  at  noon-time, 
they  ate  their  midday  meal.  When  they  found 
that  the  bundle  that  she  had  brought  with  her 


3n  tl)c  (toe  toil!)  tl)c  STtoa  ^oles      195 

contained  her  frock,  they  packed  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  off  to  the  outer  cave  and  delightedly 
dressed  her  in  it — taking  a  lively  interest  in  its 
still  pretty  trimming  of  Paris  lace.  At  night 
when  Dodo  came  for  them,  he  was  mightily  as- 
tonished to  find  that  the  boy  whom  he  had 
scared  so  well  on  the  Devil's  Dyke  was  a  girl! 

Dodo  did  not  venture  to  repeat  that  trick. 
He  led  them  by  the  safe  path  in  the  valley,  to 
which  they  descended  by  a  safe  and  not  very 
difficult  way.  It  was  a  pleasant  path,  bordered 
by  thyme  and  box  and  lavender  and,  wild-flow- 
ers, and  overhung  by  many  trees.  The  two 
journeys  that  they  took  along  it  daily  were  the 
delight  of  the  cave-dwellers,  the  brightest  break 
in  their  dull  lives.  Adeline  and  the  nuns  sighed 
for  the  freedom  of  that  sweet  solitude  in  the 
hours  of  sunshine,  and  found  very  tantalizing 
the  glimpses  that  they  had  of  it  in  the  morning 
and  the  evening  dusk.  "Ah,"  Sister  Scholas- 
tica  would  say,  "if  only  we  could  spend  our 
days  in  this  flowery  woodland,  where  all  is 
peace  and  tranquility  and  where  there  are  no 
men!  It  is  like  a  beautiful  convent  made  by 
God's  own  hands!" 

They  never  could  be  made  to  understand, 
these  poor  nuns,  why  it  was  that  the}'  had  been 
compelled  to  run  away  from  Avignon  and  hide 
themselves.  They  only  knew  that  one  day 
some  of  their  friends  had  come  to  their  convent 
saying  "La  Guillotine  has  come!  You  must 
run  away  from  her  this  instant!  " — and  had  hur- 
ried them  off.  "La  Guillotine,"  they  thought, 
must  be  some  wicked  woman.  But  everything 
was  hazy  and  uncertain  in  their  minds. 


i96  ®l)e  tDtyite  terror 

Monsieur  Randoulet  tried  to  explain  matters 
to  them,  but  quite  in  vain.  The  Revolution  was 
a  hopeless  mystery  that  they  could  not  pene- 
trate. They  could  see  no  reason  why  the  poor 
should  not  keep  on  starving  in  quiet,  as  they 
always  had  done;  why,  suddenly,  they  should 
make  such  a  fuss  about  it.  Still  less  could  they 
understand  how  the  King  could  have  been  cast 
into  prison,  and  thence  brought  out  again  to 
have  his  head  cut  off.  What  were  people  do- 
ing, they  asked,  that  such  things  were  suffered 
to  be  ?  WJiere  were  the  estrapados  and  the 
racks,  the  prisons,  the  galleys,  the  gallows? 
Those  were  what  was  wanted  when  starving 
wretches,  daring  to  become  troublesome,  showed 
their  teeth  and  took  to  snapping  with  them — 
like  hunger-driven  wolves!  Nor  could  they  un- 
derstand why,  since  it  had  been  done  for  centu- 
ries, the  King  and  his  nobles  were  committing 
wrong  in  treating  the  serfs  of  the  soil  as  though 
they  were  beasts  and  worse  than  beasts.  They 
could  not  grasp  even  the  rudiments  of  Monsieur 
Randoulet's  meaning  when  he  told  them  that 
God  Himself  had  breathed  Holy  Liberty  into  the 
handful  of  clay  out  of  which  He  made  man.  No 
matter  how  much  Monsieur  Randoulet  explained 
and  expounded,  in  the  end  it  always  was  the 
same.  The  Sisters  rested  firm  in  their  convic- 
tion that  their  good  King  and  their  good  nobles 
could  do  no  wrong. 

Sometimes  these  talks  went  on  in  the  even- 
ings at  the  farm-house — the  nuns  busy  with 
their  needlework,  the  farm  women  with  their 
spinning — and  then  Mestre  Toni  would  take 
part  in  them.  He  was  one  of  those  sound  and 


Jn  tlje  (Have  nrill)  tl)e  ®roo  fjoles      197 

true  and  temperate  Republicans  who  were  the 
very  salt  of  the  Republican  faith — of  whom,  alas, 
so  "many  were  sent  to  the  guillotine  precisely  be- 
cause they  were  so  good  and  charitable  and  truly 
wise !  What  Monsieur  Randoulet  said,  he  agreed 
with;  and  he  had  much  of  the  same  sort  to  say 
for  himself.  It  annoyed  him  that  the  good  Sis- 
ters were  so  dull  of  understanding;  and  one 
evening.,  when  they  were  even  more  than  usu- 
ally obdurate,  he  blurted  out  suddenly:  "You 
think  that  they  can  do  no  wrong,  these  over-lords 
of  ours  ?  Now  let  me  tell  you  what  one  of  them 
did  to  me,  to  me  myself,  when  I  was  living  in 
Malemort.  Just  listen  to  my  story,  and  when  I 
have  finished  it  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  what  you 
have  to  say!  This  happened  not  more  than 
twenty  years  ago,  and  everybody  at  Malemort 
still  remembers  it  and  can  tell  you  that  it  is 
true." 

"I,  for  one,  remember  it  very  well,"  said 
Monsieur  Randoulet,  who  knew  what  was  com- 
ing, "and  you  may  believe  every  word  that 
Mestre  Toni  says." 

"  Well,"  continued  Mestre  Toni,  "what  hap- 
pened to  me  was  this:  My  people,  working  hard 
for  the  money,  had  managed  to  save  enough  to 
buy  a  little  bit  of  waste  land  up  there  behind  the 
chateau  of  Saint  Felix:  the  chateau  belonging  to 
the  Bishop  of  Carpentras,  to  which  he  and  his 
canons  used  to  come  with  certain  of  their  friends 
— whom  we  won't  talk  about — to  amuse  them- 
selves. Naturally  enough,  this  fine  lot  did  not 
like  having  anybody  close  to  their  walled  in- 
closure.  They  wanted  to  be  alone  up  there; 
and  so,  one  fine  day,  what  does  the  Bishop  do 


198  ®l)e  iDljite  terror 

but  send  word  to  me  that  each  time  I  wanted  to 
work  on  my  bit  of  land  I  must  get  his  leave  to 
come  there!  That  was  much  more  than  1  could 
swallow,  and  I  sent  back  word  to  him  that  if  he 
wanted  to  buy  my  land  I  would  have  it  valued 
and  he  could  take  it  at  the  valuer's  price;  but 
that  until  he  did  buy  it  it  was  mine,  and  that 
while  it  was  mine  I  should  work  on  it  when  I 
pleased. 

"Well,  I  thought  that  settled  the  matter, 
and  two  or  three  days  later  I  put  my  hoe  on  my 
shoulder  and  went  up  to  hoe  the  vetches  I  had 
planted  on  my  land.  As  1  went  along  up  the 
Saint  Felix  road  I  met  a  woman  I  knew.  She 
began  to  giggle  when  she  saw  me  and  asked: 
'  Are  you  going  to  hoe  your  vetches,  Toni  ?' 

"  '  Yes,'  says  1.     '  They  need  hoeing  badly.' 

"'You'd  better  go  back  home,'  says  she, 
'  the  crows  have  eaten  them  all  up,'  and  she  fell 
to  giggling  again.  But  I  only  laughed  at  her 
and  went  on. 

"  A  little  farther  up  the  road  I  met  one  of  my 
neighbours  who  was  carrying  to  Monsieur  le 
Marquis — to  whom  they  belonged  by  right — 
the  tongue  and  the  jowls  of  a  pig  he  had  just 
killed.  When  he  saw  me  he  took  to  snigger- 
ing and  called  out:  '  Going  to  hoe  your  vetches, 
eh  Toni  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,'  says  I. 

"'No  you're  not,'  says  he.  'No  you're 
not — the  crows  have  gobbled  the  whole  of 
'em ! '  And  he  gave  me  a  queer  sort  of  look  and 
passed  on. 

"  Well,  I  concluded  that  he  and  the  woman 
were  trying  to  put  some  sort  of  a  joke  on  me, 


Jn  tl)c  Gtave  toitl)  tl)e  STroo  Ijoks      199 

and  I  hurried  along  to  my  vetches,  thinking  that 
when  I  saw  them  I'd  know  what  the  joke  was. 
And  I  did  know  what  it  was — but  the  joke  was 
not  one  that  made  me  laugh!  What  do  you 
think  ?  When  I  got  to  my  piece  of  land  I  found 
a  gang  of  masons  at  work  on  a  nine-foot  wall 
that  inclosed  it  completely  and  made  it  a  part 
of  the  inclosure  of  the  Bishop's  chateau!  Well, 
I  was  in  a  fury !  I  raged  and  I  menaced !  The 
masons  laughed  at  me  and  went  on  with  their 
work.  They  were  good-natured  fellows  or  I 
should  have  fared  worse.  I  heard  later  that  they 
had  been  ordered  to  stone  me  off  my  own  land ! 

"  Nor  is  that  the  whole  of  the  wrong  which 
was  done  me.  That  evening  there  came  to  my 
house  in  the  village  a  halberdier  who  brought 
to  me  an  order  from  the  Bishop  to  leave  Male- 
mort  before  the  following  daybreak.  I  and  all 
my  family  must  go,  and  instantly,  the  fellow 
said,  or  I  would  be  put  in  the  strapado  and  my 
tongue  would  be  pierced  with  a  red-hot  iron — 
because,  he  explained,  I  had  used  menaces 
against  the  Bishop  and  because  in  my  anger  I 
had  taken  the  name  of  the  Lord  in  vain !  There 
was  nothing  for  me  but  obedience.  Remon- 
strance with  that  scoundrel  Bishop  only  would 
have  made  matters  worse.  In  the  night  we  left 
Malemort,  carrying  as  we  could  what  we  most 
valued  with  us — my  wife  heavy  with  child.  By 
God's  blessing,  Monsieur  de  St.  Croix,  who 
owned  this  farm,  took  pity  on  us  and  gave  us 
shelter  here — and  here,  ever  since,  we  have 
remained. 

"  And  now,  Mother  Dorothy,  what  have  you 
to  say  that  is  good  of  an  over-lord  like  that  ?  " 


®l)c  tatyite  terror 


asked  Mestre  Toni  in  conclusion,  at  the  same 
time  bringing  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a 
thunderous  bang! 

But  Mother  Dorothy  did  not  venture  to  say 
anything;  and  until  Monsieur  Randoulet  and 
the  farmer  began  to  talk  again  there  was  only 
the  click-clack  of  the  winder  and  the  roun-roun 
of  Jeanne-Marie's  wheel. 

Often,  though — for  in  that  quiet  nook  among 
the  mountains  it  was  hard  to  realize  that  over 
France  a  tempest  was  raging — the  evening  talk 
was  of  a  lighter  sort.  The  farmer  and  his  sons 
would  tell  stories  of  hunting  expeditions  into 
the  mountains;  the  good  Sisters  would  wander 
through  rather  pointless  anecdotes  of  their  placid 
life  in  the  convent;  late  in  the  evening — spin- 
ning slowly,  or  altogether  stopping  her  wheel 
—Jeanne-Marie  would  bring  out  from  her  pack 
of  country-side  lore  some  grisly  legend— as  that 
of  the  hell-hound  Dog  of  Cambaud — which 
would  send  the  young  folks  to  bed  with  creeps 
down  their  backs  and  staring  eyes! 

So  the  days  lengthened  into  weeks,  and  the 
weeks  into  months;  and  while  the  quiet  life  at 
Peire-Avon  now  and  then  was  disturbed,  it 
never  was  interrupted,  by  the  rumour  of  the 
mighty  tempest  which  was  crashing  and  rend- 
ing over  the  length  and  breadth  of  France. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   EDGE  OF  THE  STORM 

* 

FROM  time  to  time  Marius,  the  eldest  son, 
went  down  from  the  mountains  to  Carpentras 
to  sell  some  of  the  farm  produce  or  a  batch  of 
sheep  and  lambs.  There  he  would  hear  what 
was  going  on  in  the  world  and  would  bring 
back  news  of  it.  But  it  was  not  easy  for  the 
dwellers  at  Peire-Avon  to  believe  in  the  stories 
of  horrors  which  he  brought  back  with  him, 
and  still  less  easy  to  believe  that  these  stories 
had  any  meaning  for  themselves.  Even  when 
Marius  brought  the  news  that  Maignet,  the  ter- 
rible Auvergnat,  had  come  down  to  Avignon 
they  did  not  feel  that  this  was  a  matter  which 
concerned  them — it  all  was  so  hazy  and  seemed 
so  far  away. 

To  be  sure,  Maignet's  red  record  was  not 
made  then.  It  was  he  who  set  up  the  Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal  in  Orange  that  did  its  work 
without  proces-verbaux  or  juries;  that  in  less 
than  two  months — between  the  ist  Messidor 
and  the  I7th  Thermidor  of  the  year  II — sent 
three  hundred  and  thirty-two  persons  to  the 
guillotine.  It  was  he  who  arrested  the  famous 
Jourdan  Chop-head  and  denounced  him — of  all 
things  in  the  world  for  a  man  with  such  a  nick- 
name!— for  "moderation,"  and  so  brought  him 
under  the  knife. 


tt) bite  terror 


From  his  next  visit  to  Carpentras  Marius 
came  back  pale  and  trembling.  At  supper  he 
sat  silent,  unable  to  eat.  To  the  questions 
which  were  put  to  him — was  he  ill  ?  was  he  in 
trouble  ?  had  he  been  robbed  ? — he  made  no 
answer.  From  time  to  time  his  eyes  would  rest 
on  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline,  and  then 
he  would  grow  still  paler  and  would  shake  as 
though  a  fever  had  him  in  its  grasp. 

His  mother  followed  him  to  his  bed-room, 
taking  with  her  a  cup  of  good  borage-tea  that 
she  made  him  drink  piping  hot;  and  then,  sit- 
ting on  his  bed-side,  she  got  the  truth  out 
of  him. 

"We  are  lost,  mother!"  he  said  in  a  low 
and  frightened  voice.  "The  end  has  come 
for  us!" 

"How  are  we  lost?  You  are  wandering, 
my  child." 

"No,  mother,  it  is  the  truth.  To-day  I  saw 
posted  up  on  the  church  door  in  Carpentras  a 
list  of  the  'Suspects.'  In  that  list  are  the  names 
of  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  Adeline.  Their  de- 
nunciation is  signed  by  one  Calisto.  It  declares 
that  they  are  known  to  have  fled  toward  Bedoin, 
and  that  they  probably  are  hidden  in  some 
farm-house  on  Mont  Ventour." 

"  But  we  know  all  this,  my  son.  Even  our 
good  nuns  are  'suspects.'  Don't  be  frightened 
for  so  little.  No  one  will  come  after  any  of 
them  here." 

"  But  there  is  more,  and  worse,  mother.  It 
seems  that  a  company  of  Whites,  the  other 
night,  came  out  from  the  forest  and  seized  two 
loads  of  ammunition  going  forward  to  the  army 


«       9Tl)e  (£bge  of  tlje  Storm  203 

and  tumbled  them  into  the  waters  of  the  Ouveze. 
Then  they  went  on  to  Sarrians  and  robbed  the 
tax-office.  Then  they  came  to  Bedoin — where 
they  robbed  the  tax-office,  and  tore  down  and 
trampled  in  the  mud  the  decrees  of  the  Conven- 
tion, and  cut  down  the  Tree  of  Liberty  outside 
the  Porte  Saint  Jean." 

"  Yes,  we  heard  about  that.  But  what  has 
it  got  to  do  with  us  ?  " 

"  It  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  us.  When 
that  wolf-hound  of  a  Maignet  heard  about  it  he 
fell  into  one  of  his  wild  rages  and  swore  a  dread- 
ful vengeance.  He  has  given  orders  that  all  the 
people  of  Bedoin  shall  be  arrested,  that  the  town 
shall  be  destroyed  utterly,  that  the  very  ground 
on  which  it  stood  shall  be  left  forever  waste. 
And  all  this  is  to  be  done,  mother,"  Marius  went 
on  in  a  trembling  voice,  "this  very  night!  A 
detachment  of  gendarmes  is  on  its  way  to  Bedoin 
now,  and  with  it  is  a  whole  battalion  from  the  Ar- 
deche.  They  are  to  arrest  every  one;  they  are 
to  search  the  town;  then  they  are  to  burn  it. 
After  that  they  are  to  search  all  the  farm-houses 
round  about.  They  will  come  here,  mother — 
and  what  will  happen  then  ?  We  are  lost,  1  tell 
you!  We  are  lost!" 

Jeanne-Marie  had  turned  as  pale  as  her  son. 
She  left  him  hurriedly,  and  went  back  to  the 
kitchen  to  tell  the  dreadful  news. 

"Well,  how's  the  boy?"  asked  Monsieur 
Randoulet. 

"The  boy  wouldn't  go  badly,  Monsieur,  if 
things  went  well." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Mes- 
tre  Toni. 


204  ®t)e  tDtyite  terror 

"I  mean,"  burst  out  Jeanne-Marie,  "that 
the  gendarmes,  and  a  whole  army  along  with 
them,  will  be  here  to-morrow.  I  mean  that  the 
whole  country-side  is  to  be  searched.  I  mean 
that  everybody  in  Bedoin  is  to  be  arrested  and 
cast  into  prison,  and  that  the  town  is  to  be  burned 
to  the  ground!" 

All  the  women  shrieked  together,  and  Mestre 
Toni  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  bound.  "  Male- 
diction of  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  sort 
of  justice  is  this  ?  Are  we,  the  good  people,  to 
pay  for  the  sins  of  the  bad  ?  What  is  that  Con- 
vention at  Paris  doing  that  such  things  should 
be  ?  " 

"Peace,  Mestre  Toni!"  said  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  in  a  tone  grave  and  solemn.  "Peace! 
Do  not  blame  the  Convention !  The  Convention 
is  patriotic  and  just.  In  its  justice  it  abolished 
the  laws  of  the  Tyrant;  in  its  patriotism  it  is 
guarding  the  frontiers  of  France  against  strangers 
in  league  with  her  own  traitor  sons.  It  has 
done  its  duty,  even,  when  in  its  passion  it 
drenched  the  scaffold  with  the  impure  blood  of 
Aristocrats.  Its  one  error — and  this  error  may 
prove  to  be  its  ruin — has  been  in  sitting  in  Paris: 
that  royal  city,  that  tyrant  city,  that  city  of  anti- 
patriots  and  cowards!  Paris  is  a  torch  which 
lights  the  world — but  it  is  a  torch  set  in  a  muck- 
bed  where  swarm  the  foulest  of  the  foul !  There 
thrive  such  creatures  as  Surto  and  Calisto,  who 
slay  and  plunder.  There  thrive  such  creatures 
as  Hebert  and  Henriot  and  their  like,  who  dread 
the  honest  patriotism  of  the  Girondists  and  who 
have  sent  Danton — the  patriot  Danton  who  led 
our  Marseillais  to  the  storming  of  the  Tyrant's 


(Eoge  of  tt)e  Storm  205 


castle  —  to  the  guillotine.  Think  of  it,  Danton! 
He  who,  a  sprig  of  thyme  in  his  mouth,  pro- 
claimed the  Republic;  who  abolished  thosve  laws 
of  the  Tyrant  under  which  a  bishop  could  con- 
fiscate the  poor  man's  scrap  of  ground  ;  who 
was  the  very  soul  of  our  holy  Revolution  !  They 
laid  him  where  they  had  laid  Louis  Capet,  on 
the  very  same  plank;  with  the  very  same  knife 
that  had  beheaded  the  Tyrant  they  beheaded  that 
great  patriot!  " 

For  a  moment  Monsieur  Randoulet  was  silent. 
Then,  with  his  hands  clasped  and  raised  toward 
heaven,  and  in  a  tone  still  more  impassioned,  he 
continued:  "Oh  Lord  my  God,  thou  who  art 
the  Father  of  all;  thou  who  orderest  the  stars  in 
the  firmament  and  biddest  to  swell  the  tides  of 
the  sea;  thou  whose  eyes  are  lightning,  whose 
voice  is  thunder,  whose  frowning  is  the  tempest; 
thou  who  art  the  source  and  the  beginning  of  all 
life,  from  the  life  of  man  even  unto  the  life  of  the 
smallest  earth-grown  herb;  thou,  oh  holy  and 
merciful  God,  show  thy  pity  to  us  and  give  us 
thy  help!  If  —  even  as  the  roses  need  thy  dew 
and  thy  rain  —  the  Tree  of  Liberty,  overthrown 
by  the  wicked,  needs  the  blood  of  man  to  make 
it  rise  again  and  put  forth  new  branches,  take  to 
the  last  drop  the  red  stream  that  is  in  my  veins. 
Willingly,  that  good  may  come,  will  I  go  to  the 
guillotine  as  to  thine  altar  —  blessing  thy  name 
because  thou  art  thyself  Justice,  who  holdest  in 
thine  hand  the  balance  of  Equality!  " 

The  women  sighed  heavily.  Mestre  Toni,  in 
a  sad  tone  but  with  firmness,  said  simply:  "  You 
are  right,  Monsieur.  If  the  bread  of  bitterness 
is  to  be  our  portion,  we  will  eat  it.  If  we  must 


206  ®l)e  tOhite  QTerror 

burn  the  harvest  to  rid  the  earth  of  evil  weeds, 
so  shall  it  be!" 

The  children — Adeline  and  Dodo  and  Ca- 
doche — came  in  from  the  sheep-fold  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement.  "There's  something  wrong 
over  at  Bedoin,"  said  Dodo  eagerly.  "We 
heard  the  drums  beating  the  alarm." 

"And  I,"  said  Cadoche,  "thought  I  heard 
people  shrieking.  But  I  couldn't  be  sure." 

"  I  didn't  hear  anything  at  all,"  said  Adeline. 
"I  was  inside  the  sheep-fold  playing  with  the 
lambs." 

"Well,  we'll  find  out  what  it  means  in  the 
morning,"  said  Mestre  Toni.  "Now  be  off  to 
bed,  the  whole  lot  of  you.  It's  time  for  every- 
body to  be  asleep." 

The  household  obeyed  him — the  boys  going 
off  to  the  hayloft,  Adeline  and  the  nuns  to  the 
mattresses  which  were  laid  for  them  in  the  gran- 
ary, and  the  farm  women  to  their  beds.  But 
Mestre  Toni  and  Monsieur  Randoulet  staid  in  the 
kitchen,  keeping  watch  and  guard. 

Nothing  came  to  disturb  them.  From  time 
to  time  the  deep  silence  of  the  mountains  was 
broken  by  the  barking  of  a  fox  or  the  hooting  of 
an  owl;  and  about  midnight  they  heard  the 
drums  beating  again  in  Bedoin,  and  a  confused 
murmur  as  of  wails  and  cries.  Later,  they  heard 
cries  clearer  and  more  distinct,  as  though  from 
people  fleeing  toward  the  forest  pursued  by  the 
gendarmes.  Mestre  Toni  drew  the  inference 
that  the  ravaging  of  the  village  was  completed 
and  that  the  gendarmes  were  beginning  the 
search  of  the  outlying  farm-houses.  It  would 
not  do,  he  said,  for  Monsieur  Randoulet  and  the 


of  ilK  Storm  207 


rest  to  wait  until  dawn,  as  usual,  to  go  to  their 
hiding-place;  they  must  get  away  and  be  safely 
hidden  while  yet  it  was  black  night. 

Adeline  and  the  Sisters  were  roused  out  of 
sleep,  and  the  good  Jeanne-Marie — whom  dread 
had  kept  wakeful — was  called  to  get  together  a 
supply  of  food  that  would  last  them  all  for  three 
or  four  days,  in  case  the  search  should  be  so  hot 
that  they  could  not  safely  be  sent  for  at  night  to 
come  back  to  the  farm.  Dodo  also  was  waked, 
to  go  along  with  them  and  carry  the  bag  of 
food.  To  the  provisions  Mestre  Toni  added  a 
gourd  full  of  powder  and  a  handful  of  balls—but 
against  taking  these  Monsieur  Randoulet  re- 
belled. "  Keep  your  powder  and  your  balls,  my 
good  Toni,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no  use  for  them." 

"  But  you  have  a  gun,  Monsieur.  And  what 
good  will  your  gun  do  you,  when  once  you  have 
fired  it,  unless  you  can  load  it  again  ?" 

"  But  never  shall  I  fire  that  gun!  I  am  will- 
ing to  carry  it,  because  1  may  frighten  some  one 
with  it;  but  fire  it,  1  tell  you,  I  never  shall!" 
Yet  in  the  end,  as  the  easiest  way  to  quiet  Mes- 
tre Toni's  importunity,  he  slipped  the  balls  into 
his  pocket  and  carried  the  gourd  along. 

As  though  the  good  Cure  felt  the  shadow  of 
evil  approaching  him,  he  lingered  behind  the 
others  and  made  his  parting  with  the  farmer  a 
very  serious  one.  "  In  case  we  never  meet 
again,  my  good  Toni,"  he  said,  as  he  held  the 
farmer's  hand  in  a  tight  clasp,  "1  want  you  to 
know  that  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  your 
great  charity.  And,  believe  me,  what  you  have 
rendered  unto  us  God  will  render  again  unto 
you." 


2o8 


"Do  not  talk  about  our  not  meeting  again, 
Monsieur,"  the  farmer  answered.  "It  is  true 
that  for  two  or  three  days,  very  likely,  we  shall 
not  see  each  other.  I  shall  not  send  for  you 
until  this  pest  of  gendarmes  has  passed  away 
and  you  may  come  again  in  safety.  But  then 
you  will  come  back  to  us  once  more,  and  all  will 
be  well." 

"God  grant  that  it  may  be  as  you  say.  And 
may  He,  whatever  happens  to  us,  always  guard 
and  protect  you!"  And  Monsieur  Randoulet 
slowly  relinquished  his  grasp  of  the  farmer's 
hand,  and  then  hurried  to  catch  up  with  the 
others  on  the  path.  The  night  was  dark,  al- 
though the  stars  were  shining,  and  very  still. 
They  went  on  upward  through  the  forest  in 
silence,  save  that  the  nuns  murmured  softly 
their  prayers.  From  time  to  time  came  faintly 
the  sound  of  shrieks  or  of  hoarse  shouts  from 
the  direction  of  Bedoin. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

'     ON   THE   DEVIL'S   DYKE 

DAWN  was  close  at  hand  when  they  reached 
the  terebinth  and  juniper,  and  through  the  thick- 
growing  branches  groped  their  way  into  the 
cave.  Being  inside,  Monsieur  Randoulet  lighted 
the  candle  that  he  had  carried  with  him  and  led 
the  way  to  the  inner  cavern ;  and  there  Dodo 
put  the' bag  of  food  on  the  rock  table  and  turned 
to  go. 

Monsieur  Randoulet,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
embraced  the  little  fellow  and  kissed  him. 
"  You  are  a  good  boy,  Dodo,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  helped  those  who  are  in  trouble,  and  for 
that  God  will  reward  you.  The  Whites  stole 
everything  from  me.  I  have  nothing  to  give 
you — 1  wish  I  had.  Stop,  though!  I  have  a 
little  picture  of  Saint  Maximin.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  that,"  and  he  pulled  the  leaden  balls 
and  the  little  gourd  of  gunpowder  from  his 
pocket  and  gave  them  to  Sister  Scholastica  to 
hold  while  he  searched  for  the  picture. 

"  1  have  three  crowns,"  said  Adeline,  and  she 
laid  her  precious  three  crowns  on  the  rock.  But 
Dodo  turned  his  head  away  quickly,  as  though 
the  sight  of  the  silver  hurt  his  eyes.  "  Thank 
you!  Thank  you!"  he  said.  "Indeed  I  don't 
want  anything  at  all." 

209 


210  iftljc  uJIjite  terror 

"And  here  is  my  rosary,"  said  Sister  Doro- 
thy. 

"And  here  is  a  little  leaden  image  of  the 
Virgin,"  said  Sister  Margai. 

"  Oh  how  unhappy  I  am !  "  exclaimed  Sister 
Scholastica.  "  1  have  nothing  at  all  that  I  can 
give  to  this  good  little  boy  who  has  been  so  kind 
to  us ! " 

"Indeed,  indeed,  I  do  not  want  anything," 
Dodo  repeated. 

"  Will  you  not  take  my  picture  of  Saint  Max- 
imin  ?"  asked  Monsieur  Randoulet. 

Dodo  shook  his  head. 

"Nor  Mother  Dorothy's  rosary  ?  " 

Dodo  shook  his  head. 

"Nor  Adeline's  three  crowns  ?" 

Dodo  shook  his  head  most  emphatically. 

"Well  then,  take  the  little  leaden  Virgin." 

"Yes,  take  it,"  said  Sister  Margai  eagerly, 
and  she  put  the  image  into  Dodo's  hand  and 
kissed  him.  "Don't  you  remember,"  she  added, 
"  how  you  used  to  want  this  very  image,  long 
ago  when  I  was  the  turkeyherd  here  at  the 
farm  ?  Well,  now  it  is  yours!  " 

Dodo  did  not  refuse  this  offering.  He  seemed 
to  be  thinking  very  earnestly,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  Sister  Scholastica  standing  there  with  her 
hands  full  of  powder  and  balls.  "  I  am  so  sorry, 
Dodo,"  Sister  Scholastica  repeated,  "that  I  have 
nothing  to  give  you." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Dodo,  insinuatingly,  "you 
will  give  me  a  little  powder  from  the  gourd  ?" 

"That  I  will!"  said  Sister  Scholastica,  de- 
lighted to  give  the  boy  anything;  and  before 
Monsieur  Randoulet  could  stop  her  she  had  un- 


ttje  SDetrirs 


corked  the  gourd  and  had  filled  with  powder 
Dodo's  outstretched  hand. 

"But  what  do  you  want  with  powder?" 
asked  the  Cure. 

"  To  load  my  pistol." 

"You  have  a  pistol?  Surely  you  do  not 
want  to  kill  anybody  ?" 

"Oh  no,  Monsieur.  I  want  to  get  the 
eaglets  that  are  in  the  nest  on  the  very  top  of 
the  Combe  de  Curmier.  With  my  pistol  I  can 
keep  away  the  old  birds.  Now  I  shall  have  the 
eaglets  for  sure!  And  this  is  the  very  time  for 
it — when  the  old  birds  fly  out  from  their  nest  in 
the  early  day !  "  Chuckling  with  delight,  Dodo 
said  "  Adessias,"  and  was  gone! 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment  after  he  had 
left  them,  and  then  Mother  Dorothy  said  shortly: 
"  That  boy  will  go  climbing  into  some  dreadful 
place  and  get  killed!  " 

"  Sister  Scholastica  would  have  done  better 
had  she  thought  a  little  before  giving  him  the 
powder,"  said  Sister  Margai,  primly. 

Poor  Sister  Scholastica  was  covered  with 
confusion  and  did  not  say  a  word. 

"  I  know  where  the  nest  is,"  said  Adeline. 
"I  heard  Dodo  talking  to  Cadoche  about  it  yes- 
terday. It  is  in  a  very  dreadful  place,  just  as 
Mother  Dorothy  says.  It  is  up  on  the  precipice 
above  the  Devil's  Dyke — that  awful  path  along 
which  we  came  that  first  day.  Dodo  never  can 
climb  up  there.  He  will  tumble  down  into  the 
gulf  and  be  killed!" 

Monsieur  Randoulet  was  very  seriously  per- 
turbed. In  a  way  he  felt  that  he  was  respon- 
sible for  the  peril  into  which  the  boy  was  going; 


®l)c  totjite  terror 


that  he  should  have  prevented  the  gift  of  gun- 
powder which  made  the  eaglet-hunting  possible. 
He  walked  backward  and  forward  in  the  cave 
uneasily,  while  the  shadows  thinned  as  the 
morning  light  came  pale  through  the  opening 
high  above  him.  He  tried  to  read  his  breviary: 
but  his  mind  ran  neither  on  the  Lord  nor  on  the 
Saints  of  the  Lord — but  on  little  Dodo,  whom  he 
seemed  to  see  dropping  backward  from  the  face 
of  that  great  precipice,  and  flashing  downward, 
and  lying  mangled  on  the  cruel  rocks  below. 

At  last  he  could  stand  inaction  no  longer. 
He  felt  that  it  was  his  duty  to  go  after  the  boy 
and  to  try  to  save  him — no  matter  what  the 
peril  to  himself  might  be.  In  spite  of  the  en- 
treaties of  the  nuns  and  of  Adeline  not  to  take 
so  great  a  risk — at  the  very  moment  when  the 
gendarmes  were  scouring  the  mountains — he 
shouldered  the  gun  that  had  stood  for  so  long 
in  its  corner  and  went  out  from  the  cave. 

Full  day  had  come,  and  as  he  stepped  put 
from  the  branches  of  the  juniper  he  was  fairly 
dazzled  by  the  brilliant  May  sunshine.  But  the 
sunshine,  of  which  for  so  long  he  had  seen  so 
little,  was  delightful;  and  he  gave  a  sigh  of 
happiness  as  he  breathed  the  fresh  sweet  air. 
For  a  minute  or  two  he  stood  quite  still,  listen- 
ing. But  only  the  soft  noises  of  the  forest  were 
about  him,  and  he  went  on  toward  the  Devil's 
Dyke  quite  at  his  ease.  As  he  walked,  he 
prayed  in  his  heart  that  Dodo  might  be  turned 
back  by  a  wholesome  fear  from  his  dangerous 
enterprise;  and  then  the  comforting  thought 
came  to  him:  "After  all,  he  forgot  to  ask  for 
ball.  It  would  do  him  no  good  to  charge  his  pis- 


(2!ht  tl)c  Eletrirs  Dtjke  213 

tol  with  powder  alone. "  But  with  this  thought, 
suddenly,  came  another  thought :  ' '  Why  was  he 
so  eager  to  have  the  little  leaden  image  of  the 
Virgin  ?  "  And  in  an  instant  the  Cure  perceived 
the  whole  of  Dodo's  naughty  scheme.  Cut  with 
a  knife  into  little  pieces,  the  leaden  Virgin  would 
serve  to  charge  the  pistol  very  well  indeed!  In 
point  of  fact,  that  was  precisely  what  Dodo  had 
done  with  his  Virgin  as  soon  as  he  was  fairly 
outside  of  the  cave! 

Very  anxiously  Monsieur  Randoulet  listened 
as  he  began  the  passage  of  the  Devil's  Dyke. 
The  curve  of  the  path  around  the  mountain  pre- 
vented him  from  seeing  along  it  for  more  than 
a  few  feet.  He  listened  for  some  sound  of 
Dodo's  scramblings,  and  so  earnestly  that  he 
did  not  think  at  all  about  gendarmes.  The  nest, 
as  Adeline  had  explained  to  him,  was  above  the 
path  at  a  point  where  a  fig-tree  grew  out  from 
a  crevice  in  the  rock  and  overhung  the  precipice. 
There  the  path  was  at  its  narrowest,  a  ledge  but 
a  few  inches  wide.  A  couple  of  rods  above  it 
was  another  ledge  that  joined  the  path  farther 
along,  toward  the  farm-house.  It  was  broader 
than  the  path,  and  a  stranger  would  be  apt  to 
follow  it — until  he  found  that  it  ended  in  the  air! 

The  Cure  came  in  sight  of  the  outgrowing 
fig-tree,  and  gave  a  sigh  of  thankfulness  because 
Dodo  was  not  visible — and  then  drew  a  quick 
breath,  as  he  thought  that  Dodo  already  might 
be  lying  dead  in  the  gulf  below!  He  paused — 
uncertain  as  to  whether  he  should  search  farther 
for  the  boy  or  should  return  at  once  to  the  cave. 
While  he  stood  irresolute,  a  little  stone  came 
rattling  down  the  mountain  side  and  shot  past 


2i4  ®l)e  tOI)ite  STcrror 

him  into  the  chasm.  He  looked  up  quickly.  On 
the  ledge  above  him,  watching  him  fixedly,  stood 
a  gendarme! 

Monsieur  Randoulet  did  not  know  about  the 
false  path,  but  he  did  know  that  for  him  to  turn 
back  and  to  make  for  the  shelter  of  the  cave 
would  be  to  betray  those  who  were  hidden 
there.  Escape  down  the  mountain  side  was 
possible  only  for  a  bird:  yet,  involuntarily,  he 
ghmced  downward — and  a  fresh  terror  seized 
him  as  he  saw  another  gendarme  coming  up  the 
valley.  To  go  ahead  was  his  only  course.  The 
upper  path,  where  the  first  gendarme  stood 
watching  him,  must  join  the  path  on  which  he 
was,  he  reasoned — if  he  could  reach  that  junc- 
tion first,  and  get  on  past  it,  there  was  a  chance 
that  he  might  reach  the  cover  of  the  thick 
woods.  Once  in  the  woods,  he  very  well  might 
lie  hidden  until  nightfall.  Then,  without  endan- 
gering the  others,  he  might  be  able  to  get  back 
to  the  cave.  And  so,  as  fast  as  he  dared  to  walk 
in  that  perilous  path,  he  hastened  onward,  his 
heart  beating  hard  and  sweat  pouring  from  him. 
In  a  minute  or  two  he  came  to  the  out-jutting 
mass  of  rock  where  the  fig-tree  grew  and  where 
the  path  was  but  a  span  wide.  Holding  fast  to 
the  knobs  and  crevices  of  the  rock,  he  rounded 
the  projecting  rock — and  found  himself  face  to 
'ace  with  a  third  gendarme! 

Had  he  been  alone,  this  gendarme — cum- 
bered with  his  gun  and  his  sword  and  his  big 
boots  with  their  long  spurs — would  not  have 
been  very  dangerous.  He  had  slung  his  mus- 
ket over  his  shoulder  by  its  strap,  and  was 
holding  fast  to  the  mountain  side  for  dear  life 


<£>n  tfye  UDemi's  Hlgke  215 

as  he  slowly  worked  his  way  along  the  ledge. 
He  was  not  used  to  work  of  that  sort,  and  he 
was  a  badly  scared  man.  But  he  was  a  worse 
scared  man  when  Monsieur  Randoulet — old  in- 
stincts reviving  in  him — took  advantage  of  a 
better  bit  of  standing  room  to  unsling  his  own 
gun  and  to  level  it.  The  gendarme  went  pale 
as  death  at  that.  As  he  tightened  his  grip  upon 
the  rock  he  gasped  in  a  frightened  voice:  "The 
Law!  " 

"For  whom  are  you  searching?"  asked 
Monsieur  Randoulet. 

In  the  same  gasping  and  frightened  voice  the 
man  answered:  "For  the  Cure  of  Malemort 
and  for  the  daughter  of  the  ci-devant  Marquis 
d'Ambrun." 

"I  am  the  Cure  of  Malemort!"  Monsieur 
Randoulet  answered. 

"  I  arrest  you!"  said  the  gendarme,  his  in- 
stinct of  duty  for  an  instant  getting  the  better  of 
his  fears.  Then  he  turned  still  whiter,  as  he 
realized  what  was  likely  to  result  from  his 
words. 

Monsieur  Randoulet's  finger  was  upon  the 
trigger  of  his  piece.  He  had  but  to  twitch  that 
linger  and  the  gendarme,  who  sought  to  lead 
him  to  a  prison  out  of  which  he  would  go  to  the 
guillotine,  would  be  a  dead  man — crashing  down 
into  the  chasm  with  a  bullet  through  his  heart. 
But  Monsieur  Randoulet,  a  true  priest  of  God, 
was  not  of  those  who  manned  the  racks  of  the 
Inquisition  and  did  to  death  their  fellow  crea- 
tures in  the  name  of  the  Most  High.  His  instinc- 
tive act  of  self-defense  was  checked  as  he  remem- 
bered the  stern  Commandment:  Thou  Shalt  not 


216  ®l)e  tOI)ite  terror 

Kill!  In  another  moment  he  lowered  his  piece 
from  his  shoulder,  and  said  in  the  tone  of  a  man 
who  utters  his  own  death-warrant:  "  I  give  my- 
self up  to  the  Law!" 

At  that  instant  there  was  a  burst  of  smoke 
among  the  branches  of  the  fig-tree  above  them, 
the  sound  of  a  shot  that  went  echoing  along  the 
mountain  sides — and  the  gendarme,  with  the 
point  of  his  cocked  hat  shot  away  and  his  face 
torn  and  bloody,  fell  sidewise  along  the  face  of 
the  rock  with  a  shriek,  caught  for  a  moment  on 
the  ledge,  went  over  it,  and  then  stopped  again 
as  by  sheer  chance  he  grasped  a  juniper  stump, 
and  so  hung  above  the  abyss. 

Looking  up  into  the  fig-tree  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  saw  Dodo  perched  among  the  branches, 
his  still-smoking  pistol  in  his  hand.  "Run! 
Run,  Monsieur!"  cried  Dodo.  "The  blessed 
Virgin  has  saved  you !  He  can't  hold  on  for  a 
minute.  You  can  get  safe  away !  " 

But  while  Dodo  was  speaking  Monsieur 
Randoulet  had  stepped  cautiously  and  quickly 
to  where  his  enemy  was  dangling  above  the 
jaws  of  death.  The  man  was  utterly  panic- 
stricken — so  lost  in  his  desperate  fear  that  he 
had  not  heard  Dodo's  voice,  and  was  sure  that 
the  Cure  had  fired  upon  him.  His  wound,  how- 
ever, was  not  a  serious  one.  Dodo's  blessed 
Virgin  had  given  him  a  good  peppering,  but  had 
done  him  no  great  harm. 

"  Hold  fast  for  a  moment  longer,"  said  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet.  "With  my  hand  under  your 
shoulder  you  will  be  able  to  get  up  again  into 
the  path."  These  words  gave  the  gendarme  a 
little  courage.  His  desperate  grip,  which  was 


Uje  £Demi1s  EDjjke  217 


beginning  to  loosen,  grew  firm  again.  Helped 
by  Monsieur  Randoulet's  strong  grasp  —  given  at 
the  immediate  peril  of  his  life,  for  a  false  move 
would  have  sent  them  down  the  cliff  together  — 
the  gendarme  slowly  raised  himself  to  safety  ; 
and  then,  still  helped,  crawled  along  to  where 
the  path  broadened  and  he  could  seat  himself 
with  his  back  against  the  mountain  side.  Kneel- 
ing beside  him,  the  Cure  wiped  the  blood  from 
his  face.  Presently  the  man  got  back  his  breath 
and  his  understanding.  Grasping  Monsieur 
Randoulet's  shoulder  he  said:  "  I  arrest  you!  " 
"That,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet,  as  he  con- 
tinued to  wipe  away  the  blood,  "  is  your  duty." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

BEFORE   THE   REVOLUTIONARY   TRIBUNAL 

ON  hearing  the  pistol  shot,  the  gendarme  in 
the  valley  below  and  the  gendarme  on  the 
mountain  side  above  hastened  to  their  comrade. 
Finding  him  wounded,  and  finding  the  gun 
that  Monsieur  Randoulet  had  left  in  the  path, 
they  drew  a  natural  conclusion.  "  Murderer! 
Wretch !  "  they  cried.  "  How  dare  you  fire  on  a 
gendarme  of  the  Nation  ?  "  In  a  twinkling  they 
had-  bound  him  fast  with  cords,  as  a  murderer 
would  have  been  bound. 

One  of  them  put  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol 
to  the  Cure's  forehead.  "I  don't  see  why  I 
shouldn't  blow  your  head  off,"  he  said.  "You 
are  one  of  the  gang  who  cut  down  the  Tree  of 
Liberty.  You  are  of  the  traitors  who  are  wait- 
ing for  the  Austrians  to  put  a  Tyrant  once  more 
on  the  throne!" 

"We  might  as  well  tumble  him  over  the 
cliff,"  said  the  other,  "  and  so  have  done  with 
him ! " 

Monsieur  Randoulet — fearful  for  Dodo,  who 
was  shivering  up  in  the  fig-tree,  just  around  a 
turn  in  the  path — made  no  reply.  So  long  as 
they  thought  that  he  had  fired  the  shot  Dodo 
was  safe.  Even  should  they  go  back  and  pass 
beneath  the  fig-tree,  the  path  there  was  so  diffi- 
218 


jBcfore  the  Uetjolntionarjj  Sribtmal    219 


cult  and  so  dangerous  that  there  was  little  chance 
of  their  looking  upward.  But  they  did  not  go 
back.  They  went  forward.  One  of  the  gen- 
darmes helped  along  his  wounded  comrade;  the 
other  walked  behind  Monsieur  Randoulet,  pistol 
in  hand.  There  was  no  need  for  a  pistol.  Car- 
rying his  old  gun  slung  on  his  back,  where  the 
gendarmes  had  hung  it,  the  good  Cure  went 
with  them  as  meekly  as  a  lamb. 

When  they  got  to  the  end  of  the  Devil's 
Dyke,  instead  of  keeping  on  toward  the  farm- 
house, they  turned  into  the  forest  and  made 
directly  for  Bedoin.  Through  the  openings  be- 
tween'the  trees,  off  across  the  valley,  they  could 
see  the  little  town  distinctly;  but  all  was  still 
there ;  the  drum-beating  and  the  cries  and  shrieks 
had  ceased.  The  sun  shone  out  strongly. 
Threads  of  gossamer  floated  in  the  air  waver- 
ingly,  showing  against  the  pale  blue  sky  like 
star-rays.  The  only  sound  was  that  of  their 
own  rustling  footsteps  and  of  the  buzzing  of 
wild  bees  about  the  rosemary  blossoms.  There 
was  no  clicking  of  .hoes  from  the  fields  below 
in  the  valley.  As  they  crossed  the  valley  they 
found  it  deserted.  It  seemed  like  a  Sunday. 

As  they  neared  Bedoin  pitiful  sights  met  their 
eyes.  Many  of  the  villagers  had  been  arrested 
and  shut  up  in  the  great  church  which  crowned 
the  conical  hill  whereon  the  village  was  built; 
but  many  more,  outcast  from  their  homes,  were 
congregated  in  miserable  groups  in  the  near-by 
fields.  They  had  brought  with  them  some  of 
their  belongings.  Here  was  a  little  heap  of  house- 
furniture,  there  a  little  pile  of  linen;  goats  and 
donkeys  were  tethered  to  posts ;  chickens  strayed 
15 


tX)l)itc  terror 


around.  Most  of  the  women  were  on  their 
knees,  weeping  and  begging  for  mercy,  their 
terrified  children  clinging  fast  to  them.  The 
men,  stupefied,  stolid,  sat  with  their  elbows  on 
their  knees  and  their  chins  in  their  hands  watch- 
ing the  preparation  for  their  utter  ruin.  For, 
coming  and  going  among  them,  the  soldiers  of 
the  Fourth  Ardeche  Battalion  were  bringing  great 
fagots  of  holm-oak  from  the  neighbouring  hill- 
sides and  were  piling  these  fagots  in  the  houses, 
in  the  streets,  everywhere — making  ready  for 
the  fire  which  that  evening  was  to  destroy  the 
town.  Nothing  was  to  be  lett  of  it.  Etedoin 
the  infamous  was  to  be  wiped  out  in  flame  from 
the  sight  of  man ! 

But  these  broken  men  and  women  were 
better  off  than  those  which  the  village  still  held 
— the  "suspects,"  before  whom  was  a  terrible 
death:  a  death  compared  with  which  the  guillo- 
tine was  merciful  and  a  gun-shot  grace.  As 
these  were  passed,  with  a  mere  show  of  trial, 
before  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  they  were 
dragged  up  to  the  crest  of  the  town  and  thrust 
into  the  great  church — facing  the  open  space 
known  as  the  Plan  de  Maudene — there  to  wait 
for  the  coming  of  night-time  and  the  coming  of 
the  flames!  To  make  this  hellish  work  of  de- 
struction the  more  sure,  a  barrel  of  gunpowder 
had  been  placed  in  the  church,  with  a  slow- 
match  leading  down  from  it  to  the  Portail  du 
Catarin.  And  then,  in  the  fields  around  the  vil- 
lage, were  the  wives  and  the  fathers  and  the 
mothers  of  those  who  were  to  die  in  this  horri- 
ble fashion — watching  the  building  of  the  death- 
pyre,  and  unable  to  lift  a  hand! 


Before  the  ttctiohttiunarti  tribunal    221 


Guarded  by  the  gendarmes,  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  passed  through  this  dismal  company. 
The  fagot-carrying  soldiers  laughed  when  they 
saw  him.  "  ftello,  Aristo!  "  cried  one,  "  we're 
going  to  boil  you!"  "So  you  hadn't  wood 
enough  to  warm  yourself  without  cutting  down 
the  Tree  of  Liberty,  eh  ?  "  said  another.  "  Well, 
you  shall  have  'wood  and  warmth  a-plenty 
now!"  Even  the  villagers  cried  out  against 
him — believing  that  he  really  was  one  of  the 
Whites  who  had  drowned  the  wagon  load  of 
gunpowder  and  cut  down  the  Bedoin  Liberty 
Tree,  and  so  had  brought  destruction  to  their 
homes.  They  cursed  him  as  he  passed,  they 
threw  stones  at  him  ;  they  tore  his  clothing. 
Presently  he  was  bleeding  and  in  rags.  Si- 
lently he  went  onward,  praying  in  his  heart 
for  God's  mercy. 

The  gendarmes  led  him  into  the  long  and 
narrow  room  in  which  the  Revolutionary  Tribu- 
nal was  sitting — the  three  judges  on  a  dais,  a 
tightly  packed  crowd  below.  As  he  entered, 
one  of  the  judges  glanced  at  him  sharply  and 
then  rose  in  his  place.  "Was  this  man  alone 
when  you  captured  him  ?"  he  called  out  to  the 
gendarmes. 

"  He  was  quite  alone." 

"  That  cannot  be.  There  must  have  been  a 
girl  with  him — the  daughter  of  an  Aristocrat." 

"  He  was  alone,"  the  gendarme  repeated. 

"Citizen,"  said  the  President  of  the  Tribunal, 
addressing  his  fellow  Judge,  "  we  will  look  after 
this  fellow  when  his  turn  comes.  Give  your 
vote  now  for  the  one  before  us.  He  is  accused 
of  'Moderation,'  and  of  having  in  his  posses- 


terror 


sion — contrary  to  the  decree  of  the  municipality 
of  Carpentras — more  than  half  a  pound  of  sugar 
and  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  oil. 
What  is  your  verdict  ?" 

"  Death,"  answered  the  Judge  in  an  absent- 
minded  tone,  as  he  continued  to  stare  at  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet. 

"  Death,"  said  the  other  Judge. 

"  Death,"  said  the  President.  '•  The  verdict 
is  unanimous." 

The  condemned  man  uttered  a  deep  groan. 
In  a  moment  he  was  hurried  away  to  the  church, 
to  die  that  night  in  the  flames. 

"I  demand,"  said  the  still-standing  Judge, 
"that  this  Aristo  just  brought  in  by  the  gen- 
darmes be  tried  at  once." 

A  murmur  of  approval  ran  through  the 
crowd.  For  some  reason  they  believed  that 
this  was  the  very  White  who  had  cut  down 
their  Liberty  Tree  and  so  had  brought  upon  them 
overwhelming  disaster. 

"So  be  it,"  said  the  President;  and  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  was  brought  to  the  bar  between 
the  two  gendarmes,  the  third  gendarme,  with 
blood-smeared  face,  coming  forward  as  a  wit- 
ness. "Of  what  is  he  accused?"  asked  the 
President. 

"He  is  a  priest,"  answered  the  standing 
Judge,  leaning  forward  with  his  fists  on  the 
table  and  glaring  at  Monsieur  Randoulet  sav- 
agely. 

"  I  have  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the 
Republic,  and  I  have  remained  true  to  my  oath." 

"  Why  were  you  carrying  that  gun  which  is 
slung  over  your  shoulder?" 


Before  tlje  HeDolutioncmj  tribunal    223 

"  To  protect  myself  against  the  Whites,  who 
haunt  the  mountains." 

"You  lie!"  cried  the  wounded  gendarme. 
"  It  was  to  Tire  on  the  gendarmes  of  the  Nation. 
Look  at  my  face!  " 

"  I  never  have  fired  a  shot  at  a  fellow  crea- 
ture. It  is  God's  command  that  man  shall 
not  harm  his  fellow  men.  I  have  kept  thai 
law." 

"I  am  the  proof  that  he  lies,"  said  the  gen- 
darme, and  he  thrust  himself  forward  that  the 
judges  the  better  might  see  his  wounds. 

"  The  proof  that  I  am  telling  the  truth,"  said 
Monsieur  Randoulet,  speaking  in  a  calm  voice, 
"is  very  easily  produced.  If  you  will  examine 
this  gun  you  will  find  that  it  still  is  loaded,  and 
that  it  has  not  been  fired  off  for  a  long,  long 
while." 

One  of  the  gendarmes,  thinking  to  confound 
him,  snatched  "the  gun  trom  his  shoulder.  But 
the  gendarme  himself  was  confounded.  The  in- 
side of  the  barrel  was  rusty  and  dusty.  When 
he  ran  in  the  ramrod  he  found  the  charge  in 
place.  He  gave  a  low  whistle,  and  passed  the 
gun  on  to  his  comrade  who  had  been  wounded. 
The  wounded  man,  also  testing  the  gun,  was 
lost  in  amazement.  "  But  if  it  wasn't  you,  who 
was  it?"  he  asked,  blankly. 

Monsieur  Randoulet  evaded  this  question. 
"  Had  it  been  I  who  fired  upon  you,  friend,"  he 
asked,  "why  should  I  have  saved  you  from 
certain  death  when  you  were  falling  over  the 
precipice  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know!"  answered  the 
puzzled  gendarme. 


224  ®l)c  tOtyite  QTerror 

The  standing  Judge  broke  in  sharply:  "Then 
some  one  was  with  you  ?" 

"  I  was  walking  alone,"  replied  the  Cure. 

"Miserable  wretch!  Will  you  swear  that 
you  do  not  know  where  is  hidden  Adeline,  the 
ci-devant  Comtessine  d'Ambrun?" 

"I  will  not  swear,"  Monsieur  Randoulet 
answered. 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  the  standing  Judge. 
"That  answer  settles  the  matter,"  and  he  sat 
down. 

"Then  you  confess,"  said  the  President, 
severely,  "that  you  fled  into  the  mountains 
with  the  daughter  of  the  ci-devant  Marquis 
d'Ambrun  ?  " 

Monsieur  Randoulet  made  no  reply. 

The  President  turned  toward  the  Judge  who 
had  just  seated  himself  and  asked:  "Citizen 
Calisto,  what  is  your  verdict  ?  " 

"Death." 

"Death,"  said  the  other  Judge,  without 
waiting  to  be  asked. 

"  Death,"  said  the  President.  "  The  verdict 
is  unanimous." 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

A    LIFE    LAID    DOWN 

A  MOMENTARY  stir  of  satisfaction  went 
through  the  crowd,  and  then  all  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  next  in  line  to  come  before  the 
judges.  But  the  President,  instead  of  ordering 
Monsieur  Randoulet  off  to  the  church,  where 
the  other  condemned  men  were,  said  to  him: 
"  Have  you  anything  to  reveal  that  may  be  of 
service  to  the  Republic  ?  The  Tribunal  permits 
you  to  speak." 

"Yes,"  Monsieur  Randoulet  answered, 
speaking  slowly  and  gravely,  "I  have  a  reve- 
lation to  make;  and,  also,  I  wish  to  point  out 
to  you  the  yawning  chasm  into  which  there  is 
danger  that  the  Republic  may  plunge."  Paus- 
ing a  moment,  he  continued :  "  There  are  hypo- 
crites, villains,  tools  of  the  Tyrant,  who  traitor- 
ously profess  to  serve  the  Republic  to  the  end 
that  they  may  destroy  her.  I,  Citizen  Randou- 
let, Cure  of  Malemort,  faithful  to  the  Constitu- 
tion, can  name  and  deliver  up  to  justice  one  of 
these  traitors! " 

"  Don't  listen  to  that  old  wind-bag,"  cried  a 
man  in  the  crowd.  -He  was  not  a  Bedoin  man, 
but  a  stranger  who  had  come  along  with  the 
soldiers  for  the  sake  of  plunder.  Wrapped  in  a 
cloth  he  carried  a  silver  pyx  that  he  had  stolen 

225 


226  ®|)e  iBIjite  terror 

from  the  church.  As  he  spoke,  he  inverted  the 
pyx  above  Monsieur  Randoulet's  head  and  show- 
ered over  him  the  holy  wafers  that  it  contained. 

"Let  him  go  on,"  cried  a  dozen  persons  in 
the  crowd,  eager  to  hear  the  revelation.  The 
President  stopped  in  his  work  of  writing  out 
the  formal  condemnation  and  regarded  Monsieur 
Randoulet,  covered  with  the  holy  wafers,  fixedly. 
Judge  Calisto,  impatient  with  this  interruption, 
leaned  back  in  his  seat  and  gnawed  his  nails 
savagely.  The  third  Judge  took  advantage  of 
the  lull  in  the  proceedings  to  lay  his  head  upon 
the  table  and  go  to  sleep. 

"This  traitor  to  the  Republic,"  Monsieur 
Randoulet  went  on  calmly,  "is  a  nobleman's 
servant.  He  has  murdered  his  master,  and  he 
has  stolen  his  master's  money  and  lands  and 
name.  He  was  of  those  who  plotted  to  rescue 
the  Tyrant  on  the  day  that  he  was  executed. 
Under  menace  of  death  he  has  compelled  a  ci- 
devant  Marquise  to  sign  a  paper  consenting  to 
his  marriage  with  her  daughter.  By  this  show- 
ing, he  is  at  once  a  murderer,  a  robber,  a  traitor, 
and  a  coward.  Now,  to-day,  this  monster  has 
put  on  the  red  cap  of  Liberty,  and  in  the  name 
of  Liberty  has  denounced  as  a  '  Moderate '  one 
who  has  helped  to  thwart  his  marriage  with  the 
daughter  of  the  Marquise.  I  can  name  this 
Aristocrat  in  disguise,  this  tyrant's  tool.  I  can 
cause  his  arrest  and  his  execution :  for  the  wretch 
carries  on  his  person  the  proof  of  his  crime.  A 
murderer,  a  robber,  a  traitor,  he  is  thrice  deserv- 
ing of  death!" 

As  Monsieur  Randoulet  ceased  speaking  he 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Calisto.  Those  eyes,  usually 


Cifc  £ai&  Dotnn  227 


so  gentle,  glowed  with  a  holy  anger  that  made 
them  burn  into  Calisto's  breast.  Involuntarily 
his  hand  went  to  his  pocket  to  draw  out  and  to 
throw  away  the  paper  signed  by  the  Marquise 
d'Ambrun.  Then  the  futility  of  his  action  be- 
came apparent  to  him.  With  his  hand  grasping 
the  paper  he  sat  still,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe. 

"Speak,"  said  the  President.  "Denounce 
this  traitor!  " 

"  I  shall  not  denounce  him,"  Monsieur  Ran- 
doulet  answered,  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  Calisto. 

"  If  you  refuse  to  denounce  him,  you  share 
his  crime  —  you  become  a  traitor  yourself." 

"  1  dare  not  cause  a  fellow  creature's  death." 

"By  denouncing  him  you  may  win  a  par- 
don for  yourself." 

"It  is  better  that  I  should  die,  and  that  this 
wicked  man  should  have  time  for  such  repent- 
ance as  will  win  for  him  the  pardon  of  God!  " 

The  President,  out  of  all  patience,  brought 
down  his  fist  on  the  table  with  a  bang.  "  Gen- 
darmes! "he  cried,  "take  this  condemned  man 
out  of  my  sight!  " 

Calisto  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  He 
smiled  grimly,  as  his  hand  came  out  of  his 
pocket  and  fell  by  his  side.  The  third  Judge, 
aroused  from  his  slumber  by  the  bang  on  the 
table,  raised  his  head  drowsily  and  said:  "I 
vote  for  death  !  " 

A  chattering  broke  forth  in  the  crowd  as  way 
was  made  for  the  condemned  man  to  pass.  "  If 
what  he  says  were  true,"  said  some,  "  he  would 
speak  out."  "  We  know  him,"  said  others  — 
"he  is  not  a  man  to  lie.  He  has  his  own  rea- 
sons for  keeping  silence."  The  wounded  gen- 


228  ®l)e  tDI)ite  terror 


darme  looked  after  the  Cure  in  a  state  of  complete 
bewilderment.  "What  /want  to  know,"  he 
said,  "is  who  peppered  my  face!  " 

Before  the  Tribunal  the  work  of  arraigning 
and  condemning  went  on.  By  nightfall  sixty- 
three  persons  had  been  sentenced  to  death  and 
shut  up  in  the  church  of  Bedoin.  Among  them 
were  six  nobles,  four  notaries,  two  nuns,  and 
six  priests.  All  the  rest  were  hard-working 
peasants — most  of  whom  could  not  tell  for  what 
they  had  been  condemned.  These  last  were  the 
bravest  of  all.  Without  trembling,  they  waited 
for  death.  The  nobles,  arrested  the  day  before 
in  the  gorges  of  Mont  Ventour,  held  themselves 
aloof  even  in  their  extremity  from  the  peasants. 
With  the  fear  of  death  marked  on  their  faces, 
they  made  a  group  apart  in  the  choir — where, 
presently,  they  were  joined  by  the  priests  and 
the  nuns.  Monsieur  Randoulet,  alone  of  the 
priests,  remained  among  the  poor — the  inno- 
cent martyrs  in  a  cause  that  was  not  their 
own. 

As  the  hours  passed  on  many  of  the  peasants, 
perceiving  their  hopelessness,  gave  themselves 
over  to  angry  despair  and  fell  to  cursing  the 
nobles  and  the  priests  who  had  led  them  into 
the  revolt  which  was  ending  so  miserably. 
"  Would  that  God  had  willed,  as  He  might  have 
willed,  that  I  never  had  laid  eyes  on  you!" 
shouted  an  old  peasant,  shaking  his  fist  at  the 
nobles.  "You  dragged  my  plough  out  of  my 
hand,  my  good  plough  that  fed  my  wife  and 
children,  and  you  gave  me  a  knife  to  kill  my 
brothers  with !  And  you,  you  priest,  you  lied 
when  you  told  me  that  the  King  was  the  right 


ib  JDoron  229 


arm  of  God  and  that  Liberty  was  the  daughter 
of  hell!" 

From  the  nobles  and  the  priests  came  no 
answer  to  this  impassioned  cry;  but  it  served  to 
fire  the  rage  of  the  other  peasants  —  who  by  force 
or  fear  had  been  led  by  the  Aristocrats  into  their 
bitter  strait.  "Wretches!"  they  howled,  "is 
this  what  you  promised  us  ?  Where  is  the  Aus- 
trian arm/  that  was  to  bring  the  King  back  to 
us  ?  Where  is  the  God  who  was  to  work  a 
miracle  and  protect  us  ?  It  is  you  who  have 
brought  us  into  this  snake's  nest.  While  a  little 
life  is  left  in  our  bodies  we  will  pay  you  for  hav- 
ing befooled  us  —  we  will  pay  you  "with  our 
hands!  We  will  tear  out  the  tongues  that  have 
lied  to  us!  We  will  choke  you  to  death  before 
we  ourselves  die!  "  With  yells  of  hate  the  half- 
crazed  creatures  pushed  toward  the  cowering 
nobles  and  priests.  In  another  moment  they 
would  have  made  good  their  words. 

Hurrying  forward,  Monsieur  Randoulet 
checked  this  furious  advance.  "Brothers!" 
he  cried.  "Brothers!  The  hour  of  death  is 
the  hour  of  repentance,  of  forgiveness  —  not  the 
hour  of  revenge!  God  is  good!  God  is  just! 
If  in  true  penitence  you  ask  His  mercy,  He  will 
remit  your  sins  and  forgive  you.  But  He  com- 
mands that  you  also  forgive  these  who  have 
sinned  against  you;  whose  falsehoods  have  led 
you  along  the  way  of  error  to  the  gates  of 
death.  In  sign  of  your  repentance,  1  exhort 
you  to  say  with  me  '  Amen  !  '  —  that,  in  His 
name,  I  may  absolve  you  from  your  sins!  " 

Monsieur  Randoulet  raised  his  hand  in 
blessing  and  the  peasants  wavered.  Suddenly 


230  ®l)e  tOfyite  terror 

from  the  depths  of  the  choir  one  of  the  priests 
called  out:  "Trust  not  in  him.  He  is  for- 
sworn. God  denies  him !  " 

But  the  peasants  halted. 

"  He  is  a  Republican.  He  has  denied  his 
religion." 

The  peasants  clasped  their  hands  and  bowed 
their  heads,  waiting  for  the  benediction. 

"  He  is  a  '  Blue.'     Long  live  the  King!  " 

At  the  words  "a  'Blue,'"  the  peasants 
raised  their  heads  again  and  recoiled  from  the 
good  priest  as  though  he  had  been  a  scorpion. 
To  these  poor  Royalists,  a  priest  who  was  false 
to  the  King  seemed  a  creature  utterly  execrable. 
They  cursed  him  and  hooted  him.  But  his 
intervention  had  saved,  for  the  moment,  the 
lives  of  those  in  the  choir.  Satisfied  with  that, 
he  withdrew  from  among  the  angry  peasants 
and  in  a  corner  of  the  church  knelt  in  prayer  to 
await  the  death  that  was  coming  to  all  of  them 
so  soon.  He  prayed  for  his  fellow  prisoners, 
and  for  the  peace  of  his  own  soul;  but  most 
earnestly  did  he  pray  for  the  safety  of  those 
whom  he  had  left  behind  him  that  morning, 
hidden  in  the  cave.  "  Lord!  Have  mercy  upon 
them,  and  guard  them,  and  save  them !  "  he 
cried  from  the  depths  of  his  tender  and  troubled 
heart. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   BURNING   OF   BEDOIN 

THOSE  for  whom  Monsieur  Randoulet,  with 
the  shadow  of  death  upon  him,  thus  earnestly 
prayed,  the  nuns  and  Adeline,  were  torn  with 
anxiety  when  the  cave  grew  dusky  with  the 
gloom  of  evening  and  still  he  did  not  return. 
Soon  after  he  had  left  them  they  had  heard,  and 
had  been  terrified  by,  the  sound  of  a  shot. 
Through  the  long  day  they  had  sat  huddled 
together,  thrilling  with  fear.  It  was  worse 
when  night  came.  God  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten them.  Their  prayers  became  supplicat- 
ing moans. 

Suddenly  the  hole  in  the  top  of  the  cave, 
through  which  the  sweet  peace  of  the  stars  had 
been  shining  like  a  smile  from  God,  grew  blood- 
red — and  the  stars  vanished  in  the  crimson 
glare. 

"God  in  heaven!  What  can  be  the  mean- 
ing of  that  ?  "  cried  Adeline  in  a  tone  of  terror. 

'•  It  is  a  sign  of  death!  "  moaned  Sister  Scho- 
lastica.  "  It  is  a  sign  of  death!  ''  and  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands  that  she  might  not  see  the 
crimsoned  sky. 

But  Sister  Margai,  whose  childhood  had 
been  spent  among  those  mountains,  took  the 
matter  more  coolly.  "  You  are  foolish,  Sisters," 

231 


232  ®I)e  tOljite  (Jcrror 

she  said.  "It  -is  only  a  fire  lighted  by  some 
shepherd  up  on  the  heights  of  Mont  Ventour. 
The  shepherds  and  the  farmers  often  make  sig- 
nals to  each  other  by  lighting  fires." 

"Who  knows,  then,"  said  Mother  Dorothy, 
"if  it  be  not  our  dear  Cure — lost  in  the  moun- 
tains and  asking  that  way  for  help  ?  " 

At  this  suggestion  Adeline  rose  to  her  feet. 
"I  shall  go  in  search  of  him,"  she  said.  And 
added,  speaking  very  quietly  and  very  firmly: 
"In  trying  to  serve'  Monsieur  Randoulet  I  am 
not  afraid  of  gendarmes  nor  of  wolves — not 
even  of  Calisto  himself. "  They  were  in  the  outer 
cave.  As  she  spoke,  she  began  to  ascend  by 
the  narrow  passage  to  the  cave's  mouth.  The 
Sisters  followed  her.  In  another  minute  they 
were  standing  on  the  open  mountain  side — 
broadly  overlooking  the  great  plain  of  Provence 
and  the  Comtat,  and  directly  overlooking  Bedoin. 
So  hellish  was  the  sight  before  them  that  horror 
struck  them  dumb!  The  whole  of  the  little  hill 
on  which  Bedoin  was  builded  was  encircled  by 
a  mighty  girdle  of  fire ! 

Over  the  devoted  village  hung  high  a  black 
pall  of  smoke.  Below,  writhing  everywhere  like 
serpents,  were  huge  tongues  of  flame.  For  a 
moment  the  flames  would  shoot  upward  and 
disclose  toppling  blackened  walls;  then  they 
would  foil  again  and  hide  everything  in  a  devil- 
ish glare.  The  smoke  was  rising  higher  and 
higher — to  the  very  stars — like  a  black  water- 
spout. In  the  reflected  light  of  this  fury  of  red 
flame  the  seven  spines  of  dark  Ventour  were 
bathed  in  crimson — and  the  intervening  gorges 
were  as  black  leeches  wallowing  in  blood. 


turning  of  JBt'&oin  233 


While  they  watched,  the  three  gates  of  the 
town  fell  blazing — and  the  outer  flames  rushed 
through  the  openings  and  charged  into  the 
masses  of  brushwood  piled  everywhere  in  the 
streets.  In  an  instant,  it  seemed,  a  vast  pillar 
of  flame  mounted  upward  and  pierced  with 
a  murderous  crimson  the  overhanging  black 
smoke  canopy.  Then  the  brushwood  within 
the  five  hundred  houses  caught,  with  a  sudden 
terrible  puff  of  flame ;  and  after  that  the  doors 
and  window-frames  and  floors  and  rafters  of  the 
houses  themselves— and  a  very  mountain  of 
flame  ascended  with  a  mighty  roar.  Higher 
still  rose  a  whirlwind  of  flying  sparks,  that 
flecked  the  smoke-blackened  heavens  with 
crimson  stars  and  that  churned  the  outer  edges 
of  the  smoke-cloud  into  a  bloody  foam.  To 
the  very  gates  of  heaven  seemed  to  be  mount- 
ing the  fires  of  hell! 

In  the  midst  of  that  glowing  furnace,  the 
great  church  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  remained 
unconsumed.  Its  thick  walls  reddened  in  the 
intense  heat  and  fell  away  in  fiery  fragments, 
but  their  mass  stood  firm — until  the  barrel  of 
gunpowder  did  its  work.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  dull  roar,  a  quaking  of  the  earth — and  then 
through  the  shattered  rose-window  and  through 
the  shattered  windows  of  the  aisles  came  black 
clouds  of  smoke  so  mighty  and  so  dense  that 
for  a  time  they  darkened  the  furiously  glaring 
flames. 

At  that  climax  of  that  devil's  work  there 
sounded  a  merry  rolling  of  drums — and  the 
watchers  on  the  mountain  side  saw  black  shad- 
ows capering  against  the  dazzling  brightness  as 


234  £l)c  tOljile 


the  destroyers  of  Bedoin  danced  about  it  an 
exultant  farandole!  Outside  the  line  of  faran- 
dolers,  plainly  visible  in  the  fire-glare,  were  the 
desolate  ones  whose  homes  were  vanishing  in 
smoke  and  flame. 

Spellbound,  Adeline  and  the  three  nuns  stood 
shivering  with  horror  as  they  gazed  at  this  most 
awful  spectacle  —  until  they^were  aroused  by  a 
close  peril  of  their  own. 

"Look!  Look!"  Adeline  exclaimed  in  a 
frightened  whisper.  "Over  there  in  the 
bushes!  Surely  thefe  is  a  man  there  —  a  man 
with  a  gun!  " 

They  held  their  breath  while  they  peered 
into  the  bushes  and  listened  intently.  They 
saw  nothing,  but  in  a  moment  they  distinctly 
heard  a  rustling  among  the  branches!!  The  next 
instant  a  man  emerged  from  the  bushes  and  ad- 
vanced toward  them.  His  figure  loomed  black 
against  the  brightness  beyond.  He  carried  a 
gun  on  his  shoulder.  Dazzled  by  the  glare  be- 
hind him,  they  could  not  see  his  face.  With  a 
scream  they  turned  to  run. 

"Stop!  Stop!"  cried  the  man.  "Do  not 
be  frightened.  It  is  I,  Marius!" 

"  Oh,  how  you  scared  us!  "  said  Sister  Mar- 
gai  as  Marius  joined  them. 

"  I  could  not  come  to  you  sooner,"  Marius 
explained.  "  All  day  long  the  gendarmes  have 
been  searching  the  mountains.  It  would  have 
betrayed  your  hiding-place  to  them  had  I  come 
before  I  was  quite  sure  that  they  were  gone." 

"Tell  us,"  asked  Mother  Dorothy,  "what 
all  this  means  ?  And  tell  us  what  has  become 
of  our  dear  Cure  ?  Is  he  at  Peire-Avon  ?  " 


Burning  of  C^boin  235 


Marius  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  My  poor 
Sisters,  my  poor  Adeline,"  he  said,  "I  fear  that 
never  again  will  you  behold  him  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Adeline  asked  in  a 
tone  that  thrilled  with  dread. 

"  1  mean,"  Marius  answered  brokenly,  "that 
early  to-day  the  gendarmes  found  him  and  car- 
ried him  away  prisoner.  He  —  he  was  brought 
before  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal.  By  now 
that  holy  man  has  perished  —  off  there  in  those 
flames  of  hell!" 

As  Marius  spoke  these  awful  words  Adeline 
fell  into  the  arms  of  Mother  Dorothy,  her  teeth 
clinched  and  her  eyes  fixed  in  a  stare  of  horror. 
Her  senses  left  her.  She  grew  cold  and  rigid. 
She  seemed  a  dead  woman  as  they  carried  her 
back  into  the  cave  and  laid  her  on  a  bed  of 
leaves. 

When,  after  a  long  while,  life  came  back  to 
her,  her  reason  was  gone.  The  shock  of  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet's  dreadful  death  —  of  which,  as 
it  seemed  to  her,  she  was  the  cause  —  had  turned 
her  brain.  She  babbled  senselessly  —  calling: 
"Pascalet!  Pascalet!  Come  and  save  our  dear 
Cure,  who  is  dying  for  me!  "  Shivering  fits 
seized  her.  Sweat  poured  from  her.  She  half 
rose,  crying:  "I  see  him!  I  see  him!  Come 
quick,  Pascalet,  and  save  him  from  Calisto!  Oh, 
come  quick!  Come  quick!"  And  she  shook 
her  fist  at  the  nuns  who  were  ministering  *to 
her,  as  though  they  were  the  Cure's  mur- 
derers. 

The  nuns  strove  to  soothe  her,  holding  her 
gently  in  their  arms.  ''Yes,  yes,  dear  child," 
said  Mother  Dorothy.  "  Pascalet  is  coming  to 

16 


236  ai)e  incite  terror 

save  him.  Pascalet  will  be  here  presently,  and 
he  never  will  leave  you  again!" 

"  He'll  never  leave  me  again,"  Adeline  an- 
swered. "  No,  he'll  never  leave  me  again. 
Never! "  And  she  laughed  shrilly.  But  her 
laugh  was  only  with  her  lips.  Her  eyes  re- 
mained fixed  in  a  horrified  stare. 

Toward  morning  she  grew  quieter.  Her 
eyes  softened,  and  the  few  words  that  she 
spoke  showed  that  her  reason  was  coming 
back  to  her.  As  daylight  began  to  thin  the 
shadows  in  the  cave"  she  grew  drowsy;  and 
the  nuns,  weary  from  their  sad  vigil,  nodded  to 
each  other  as  much  as  to  say:  "It  is  over,  now." 
And  then,  suddenly,  through  the  stillness  of  the 
early  morning  came  the  roll  of  drums  beating 
the  alarm ;  and  a  little  later  the  sound  of  firing, 
volley  upon  volley,  crashed  upon  the  sunrise 
silence.  Adeline  started  up  from  her  bed  of 
leaves  with  a  shriek.  Again  she  grew  rigid, 
and  again  the  fixed  look  of  horror  came  into  her 
eyes.  With  a  gasp  she  fell  back,  swooning. 
When  her  long  swoon  ended  her  mind  was  a 
clouded  blank! 

Well  might  the  sound  of  that  firing  craze 
her,  for  it  meant  that  over  in  Bedoin  the  last 
touch  was  being  put  to  the  devil's  work  that 
had  stained  that  night  with  an  immeasurable 
crime.  When  morning  came,  and  the  village 
was  a  smouldering  mass  of  ruins,  the  great 
church  still  stood  guard  upon  the  hilltop.  The 
gunpowder  had  riven  its  walls,  the  flames  had 
consumed  the  wood- work  in  the  belfry  and  had 
brought  the  bell  crashing  to  the  ground,  but  the 
building  was  not  destroyed.  Therefore  there 


Burning  of  JU'boin  237 


was  a  chance  that  some  of  those  who  had  been 
shut  up  in  it  before  the  town  was  fired  still 
might  be  alive.  Calisto  was  not  a  man  to  leave 
anything  to  chance  in  working  out  his  revenge. 
He  had  sworn  the  death  of  Monsieur  Randoulet 
—who  stood  between  him  and  Adeline  —  and 
he  meant  to  make  that  death  sure.  Taking 
with  him  some  men  of  the  Ardeche  Battalion, 
he  passed  upward  along  the  hot  street  through 
the  smoke  of  the  ruins  and  entered  the  church 
through  the  smoke-blackened  open  doorway. 

Calisto's  move  was  a  prudent  one.  While 
the  sixty-three  prisoners  in  the  church  had  suf- 
fered all  the  pain  of  a  most  dreadful  death,  they 
still  were  alive.  The  soldiers  found  them 
stretched  upon  the  stone  pavement,  as  they  had 
fallen  when  the  smoke  and  heat  bereft  them  of 
consciousness  —  many  cruelly  wounded  by  the 
volley  of  stones  that  had  been  discharged  among 
them  by  the  exploding  gunpowder.  As  the 
heat  died  down,  and  as  the  fresh  morning  air 
came  in  through  the  gaping  windows,  they 
slowly  were  reviving,  breathing  heavily  and 
uttering  moans  of  pain.  Monsieur  Randoulet 
had  not  been  hurt  by  the  explosion.  He  had 
risen  to  his  feet  and  was  standing  in  one  of  the 
side  chapels.  Calisto  saw  him  in  a  moment, 
and  in  another  moment  had  seized  him  and  had 
dragged  him  outside.  To  the  soldiers  he  gave 
the  order  to  bring  all  the  prisoners  down  to  the 
little  open  space  in  front  of  the  Porte  St.  Jean. 
There,  over  the  stump  of  the  Liberty  Tree,  had 
been  set  up  the  guillotine. 

Half  supported,  half  dragged  by  the  soldiers, 
the  miserable  prisoners  —  uttering  piteous  cries 


238  ®l)e  toljite  QUrror 

and  entreaties — were  brought  down  through 
the  wreck  of  Bedoin.  Some  of  them,  still  stupe- 
fied by  the  heat  and  smoke,  walked  wonder- 
ingly,  as  in  a  dream.  Others,  crying  out,  re- 
sisted fiercely  and  had  to  be  driven  onward  by 
force.  Monsieur  Randoulet  alone  made  no  re- 
sistance and  uttered  no  sound.  As  they  were 
halted,  beside  the  guillotine,  he  was  in  the  front 
rank.  The  executioner,  leisurely  turning  up  his 
sleeves,  was  standing  beside  the  knife. 

The  Cure  was  the  first  to  mount  the  scaffold. 
"The  Tree  of  Liberty  has  been  cut  down,"  he 
cried  in  a  firm  voice,  "  but  in  the  ground  below 
me  its  root  remains.  May  my  blood  water  that 
root.  May  the  Tree  of  Liberty  grow  again ;  and 
God  grant  that  it  may  throw  out  fresh  branches 
which  shall  shelter  humanity  from  the  injustice 
of  tyrants!  " 

Guided,  not  forced,  by  the  executioner,  he 
took  his  place.  There  was  an  instant  of  deep 
silence.  Then  the  drums  rolled,  the  knife  fell — 
and  the  root  of  the  Tree  of  Liberty  was  watered 
with  the  blood  of  a  just  man! 

The  six  nobles  followed.  When  their  heads 
had  fallen  the  head-basket  was  full.  The  execu- 
tioner coolly  carried  the  basket  to  a  near-by 
gully  and  emptied  it.  Then  came  the  priests, 
and  after  them  the  two  nuns.  The  knife  was 
dulled.  To  sever  the  head  of  the  second  nun 
the  executioner  was  compelled  to  drop  it  twice. 
A  shiver  of  horror  went  through  the  soldiers  on 
guard,  with  arms  presented,  about  the  scaffold. 
Their  commander,  Suchet  (he  who  became  a 
Duke  of  the  Empire  under  Napoleon,  and  under 
Louis  XVIII  a  peer  of  France)  showed  a  little 


Snrning  of  Britain  239 


mercy.  By  his  order,  the  remaining  prisoners 
were  shot.  Ranged  against  a  wall,  the  soldiers 
fired  volley  after  volley  until  all  were  dead. 
The  sixty-three  bodies  were  thrown  into  the 
watercourse  that  was  the  common  sewer  of 
Bedoin. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

WHITE  TERROR   REIGNS 

WEEKS  and  months  passed  before  reason  re- 
turned to  Adeline.  One  morning  she  awoke 
smiling,  no  longer  frenzied  with  fear,  no  longer 
shrieking  for  Pascalet  to  protect  her  against  Surto 
and  Calisto  and  La  Jacarasse.  To  her  astonish- 
ment she  found  herself  in  a  bare  little  room 
exquisitely  neat  and  clean.  Against  the  wall 
hung  a  holy- water  font  in  which  was  a  spray  of 
blessed  olive  leaves.  Sister  Margai  was  bending 
over  her.  "Where  am  I?"  she  asked — half 
believing  that  she  dreamed. 

"Dear  Adeline,"  Sister  Margai  answered, 
"  you  are  in  God's  own  house.  You  are  in  the 
Convent  of  Saint  Ursula  of  Avignon.  When 
we  came  back  ourselves  we  brought  you  with 
us.  Here  you  are  in  safety.  Our  troubles  are 
over.  The  evil  times  are  at  an  end." 

Sister  Margai  spoke  what  she  believed  to  be 
the  truth.  While  Adeline's  consciousness  had 
slumbered  momentous  changes  had  been  worked 
in  France.  A  new  order  had  been  established. 
The  Red  Terror  had  been  overthrown.  The 
wave  of  the  Revolution  upon  which  Robespierre 
had  risen  had  ended  by  sweeping  him  away. 
He  who  had  guillotined  the  Monarchy  in  the 
person  of  the  King,  and  the  Moderate  Republic 
240 


terror  Reigns  241 


in  the  persons  of  the  Girondists,  and  the  Demo- 
cratic Republic  in  the  person  of  Danton  the  Just, 
himself  had  kissed  the  block.  With  him  had 
perished  the  fierce  patriot  Saint  Just,  and 
Couthon  the  friend  of  the  poor. 

But  with  the  passing  of  the  Red  Terror,  the 
reign  of  *the  White  Terror  had  a  clear  field. 
Forth  from  their  hiding-places  poured  the  ver- 
min of  the  monarchy — dogs  of  nobles  and  cant- 
ing bigots  who  prayed  to  their  false  god  that 
the  armies  of  the  stranger  might  conquer  their 
own  land  of  France.  In  their  wake  came  compa- 
nies of  thieves  and  murderers — who  robbed, 
who  killed,  who  burned  the  harvests,  who  did 
all  in  their  power  to  weaken  France  and  give 
the  foreigners  an  easy  victory.  The  guillotine, 
that  sharp  knife  of  justice,  worked  in  God's 
sunshine;  but  these  Companies  of  Jehu — with 
the  cross  on  their  breasts  and  the  fleur-de-lys  in 
their  hats — did  their  vile  work  in  darkness,  as 
became  beasts  of  prey. 

Calisto,  a  thief  and  a  murderer,  naturally 
consorted  with  these  murderers  and  thieves. 
He  was  one  of  the  very  first — when  France  was 
shaken  by  the  fall  of  the  knife  of  the  Ninth  Ther- 
midor — to  whip  off  his  red  cap,  and  with  a 
fleur-de-lys  cut  from  it  sewed  to  his  breast  to 
get  at  the  head  of  a  robber  company.  With 
them  he  joined  in  the  shout:  "Long  live  the 
King!  Death  to  the  Republic!" — a  shout  that 
rang  from  end  to  end  of  France.  Had  there 
been  but  one  Calisto,  he  easily  could  have  been 
disposed  of.  But  there  were  men  like  him 
everywhere,  who  in  the  name  of  God  and  the 
King  robbed  and  murdered  and  destroyed.  In 


242  ®l)e  tOljit*  terror 

the  North,  under  the  leadership  of  Ribot,  they 
were  called  Chauffeurs — because  every  Repub- 
lican who  fell  into  their  hands  was  burned  over 
a  slow  fire,  as  in  the  time  of  the  Inquisition.  In 
Central  France,  Monetise  led  the  ravagers  of  the 
Maine  and  Loire.  In  the  South,  Trestaillon  was 
the  chief  leader  of  these  infamous  battalions. 
Better  were  the  days  of  the  Red  Terror,  when 
— though  the  wheat  perished  also — the  tares 
were  uprooted.  The  tribunals  of  the  Revolution 
were  no  more.  In  their  place  was  ungoverned 
crime! 

You  may  go  up  to  the  frontiers,  brave  Reds 
of  the  South,  to  die  for  France  and  for  Liberty — 
but  while  you  are  defending  the  flag  of  your 
country  against  the  foe  in  front,  you  are  power- 
less against  the  foe  in  your  rear.  While  you 
fight  your  glorious  battles  the  Whites  are  mur- 
dering your  old  father  and  your  old  mother  and 
are  ravishing  your  sister.  If  by  chance  you  do 
not  leave  your  bones  on  the  battle-field,  death 
awaits  you  at  the  hands  of  the  Whites  when 
you  come  back  to  your  own  homes.  On  the 
frontier  the  flag  of  the  Revolution  still  waves 
defiantly — the  tri-colour  that  has  struck  terror 
into  the  breasts  of  tyrants  and  that  has  dazzled 
the  world.  But  in  the  heart  of  France  floats  the 
horrible  white  flag  dotted  with  fleurs-de-lys — a 
ghastly  shroud  ready  to  enwrap  Justice  and  Lib- 
erty and  Honour!  In  the  heart  of  France  White 
Terror  reigns! 

To  Calisto  the  turn  in  the  tide  was  welcome 
that  enabled  him  to  endhissans-culotte  masquer- 


tt)l)ite  terror  Eeigns  243 

ading  and  to  be  a  fine  gentleman  once  more. 
With  his  garments  of  silk  he  assumed  the  title 
that  thenceforward  he  was  determined  to  bear. 
A  clever  shuffling  of  words  permitted  him  to 
make  an  essay  in  nobility  that  asserted  this  title 
without  committing  him  to  it.  Changing  the 
Provencal  Calisto  into  the  French  Caliste,  and 
abbreviating  the  French,  he  began  to  sign  his 
name  "  Cte.  de  la  Vernede."  It  went  very  well 
- — in  those  days  when  many  a  Bastian  clipped 
his  name  into  "baron,"  and  many  a  Marius  be- 
came a  "Marquis"! 

But  his  aspiration  to  nobility  was  a  matter  of 
the  daytime.  Other  matters  engaged  his  atten- 
tion at  night.  That  time  of  anarchy  was  a  good 
time  for  turning  a  dishonest  penny,  and  it  also 
was  a  good  time  for  paying  off  old  scores.  Ca- 
listo was  not  the  man  to  let  chances  in  either  of 
these  directions  slip  away;  and,  also,  he  was 
burning  with  a  passionate  eagerness  to  get  his 
grip  upon  Adeline  before  that  season  of  lawless- 
ness should  be  ended  and  she  should  be  safe 
against  him  under  the  protection  of  re-established 
law.  To  help  him  to  search  for  her,  and  to  seize 
her  when  she  was  found,  and  to  help  him  in  his 
revenges  and  his  robberies,  his  company  of  cut- 
throats was  of  prime  use  to  him.  It  was  made 
up  of  men  whom  he  had  selected  carefully.  So 
long  as  there  was  profit  in  his  service  he  knew 
that  he  could  trust  them  to  serve  him  faithfully 
— and  to  do  him  an  unpaid  villainous  service 
now  and  then  from  sheer  goodwill.  Avignon 
was  the  best  centre  for  his  search  for  Adeline 
and  also  for  his  other  operations,  and  therefore 
to  Avignon  he  came — establishing  himself  in  the 


244  ®l)e  tOl)ite  terror 

house  in  the  Rue  du  Limas  where  dwelt  Canon 
Jusserand,  who  also  had  whipped  off  his  red 
cap  in  a  hurry  and  was  wearing  his  black  frock 
again.  There  his  men  came  to  him  by  night — 
masked  or  with  blackened  faces,  heavily  armed 
— and  thence  he  sallied  forth  to  his  searches  or 
to  his  robberies  or  to  work  his  revenge.  His 
score  against  Jean  Caritous  was  the  first  that  he 
settled — and  the  story  of  how  he  settled  it  ex- 
hibits a  fair  sample  of  what  he  and  others  like 
him  were  doing  in  those  times. 

Calisto's  men  could  fight  when  fighting  was 
necessary,  but  they  preferred  that  the  odds 
should  be  on  their  side.  Therefore  they  watched 
and  waited  until  the  departure  of  Father  Caritous 
and  his  other  sons  with  a  wagon  train  for  Mar- 
seilles left  Jean  and  his  mother  in  their  home 
alone.  That  gave  them  even  more  fighting 
than  they  wanted,  but  at  least  they  were  sure 
how  the  matter  would  end.  And  so,  in  the 
blackness  of  night,  they  came  bravely  to  Jean's 
door. 

The  hour  was  not  late,  and  Calisto  knocked 
at  the  door  as  a  neighbour  would  have  knocked 
— a  friendly  and  not  too  vigorous  knock,  yet  a 
knock  that  had  in  it  insistence.  The  little  lou- 
bet,  asleep  on  guard  under  the  cart,  smelt  vil- 
lainy and  in  an  instant  was  awake  and  was 
barking  furiously.  Jean,  just  finishing  his  sup- 
per, would  have  opened  to  such  a  knock  with- 
out hesitation ;  but  the  barking  of  the  loubet,  in 
whose  judgment  he  reposed  a  deserved  confi- 
dence, made  him  waver  a  little.  He  went  to 
The  door  slowly,  and  asked  "Who  is  there?" 
before  he  made  any  motion  to  take  down  the  bars. 


terror  ftngns  245 


The  answer  came  instantly:  "Vauclair's 
friend,  Sergeant  Berigot.  Vauclair's  wife  is  in 
trouble  and  it  is  on  her  account  that  I  am  here." 

But  as  Caritous  did  not  recognise  the  voice, 
and  as  the  loubet  was  growling  angrily,  he  still 
did  not  take  down  the  bars. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me  ?  "  continued  the 
man  outside.  "It  was  I  who  sent  Vauclair  to 
you  to  arrange  about  bringing  his  wife  down 
from  Paris.  If  you  still  are  his  friend,  and  hers, 
open  to  me.  They  need  your  help  again." 
Then  Caritous,  hesitating  no  longer,  took  down 
the  bars  and  opened  the  door. 

In  an  instant  two  men  had  seized  him,  while 
a  third  clapped  a  handful  of  tow  over  his  mouth 
as  he  cried  out  for  help.  In  another  instant  he 
was  bound  as  well  as  gagged.  A  kick  from  one 
of  the  men  got  rid  of  the  poor  little  dog  —  break- 
ing his  ribs,  and  sending  him  to  gasp  out  his 
faithful  little  life  in  a  corner  of  the  court.  Then 
the  door  was  closed  and  barred  again,  and  four 
of  the  ruffians  lifted  Caritous  and  carried  him 
into  his  own  house.  With  a  shriek  of  terror 
Mother  Caritous  greeted  the  incoming  of  this 
masked  and  armed  company,  bearing  her  son 
bound.  Then  her  distaff  fell  from  her  hand  and 
she  fainted  away. 

Without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to 
Mother  Caritous,  the  men  seated  Jean  on  a  chair 
in  front  of  the  cheerfully  blazing  fire  and  re- 
moved the  gag  —  as  Calisto  held  a  pistol  to  his 
head  and  said:  "Republican  dog!  It  was  you 
who  brought  from  Paris  the  wife  and  the  child 
of  that  other  Republican  dog,  Vauclair;  and 
with  them  the  Comtessine  d'Ambrun!" 


246  ®l)e   tot)ite   terror 

"Yes,  I  did,"  Jean  answered,  trying  to  peer 
over  the  barrel  of  the  pistol  to  see  what  had  be- 
come of  his  mother.  "And  I  did  well!" 

"  For  that  alone  you  deserve  death,  but  you 
committed  still  another  crime:  you  carried  them 
away  from  Avignon  and  helped  them  to  find  a 
hiding-place  in  the  village  of  Malemort." 

"Yes,  I  did,"  Jean  repeated,  "and  in  that 
also  I  did  well." 

"You  served  the  Republic,  brigand  that  you 
are!" 

"I  did  my  duty." 

"  You  committed  treason  against  the  King!  " 

"  The  King  himself  was  a  traitor! " 

"  Well,  never  mind  that.  If  you  will  tell  me 
where  Lazuli  and  Adeline  are  to  be  found  I  will 
give  you  your  life." 

"  I  couldn't  tell  you  if  I  wanted  to.  I  don't 
know.  I  wouldn't  tell  you  if  I  did!  " 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  are  a  murderer,  and  I  don't 
betray  my  friends  to  murderers." 

"You  do  not  know  who  I  am." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  through  your  mask.  You 
are  Calisto  des  Sablees,  the  bastard  of  Canon 
Jusserand.  You  murdered  your  master,  the 
Comte  de  la  Vernede,  and  you  stole  his  estate." 

"Scoundrel!  Do  you  dare,  you  who  in  a 
moment  will  die,  to  speak  such  words  to  me!  " 

' '  The  truth  is  worse  for  you  than  a  pistol- 
shot  or  a  knife  thrust.  It  is  I  who  am  killing  you. " 

"  That  is  enough.  Tell  me  where  Lazuli  and 
Adeline  are  hidden.  Refuse  to  tell  me,  and  you 
and  your  mother  shall  burn  together  here  in  your 
own  house! " 


tOI)ite  (Eerror  Heigns  247 

"  Shoot  me,  burn  me,  do  what  you  like  with 
me,  but  do  not  hurt  my  mother.  Surely  you 
would  not  hurt  my  mother?  But,  to  be  sure, 
you  never  had  one.  You  don't  know  what  a 
mother  is! " 

"  Stop  your  jabber  and  tell  us  what  we  want 
to  know,"  broke  in  one  of  the  masked  men. 
"Speak  up,  and  in  a  hurry.  We  can't  fool 
away  a  whole  night  on  you." 

Caritous  was  startled  by  the  man's  voice. 
Speaking  to  Calisto  he  said:  "Would  you  like 
to  make  a  good  bargain  with  me  ?" 

"  What  is  your  bargain  ?" 

"It  is  this  :  If  you  will  promise  to  let  my 
mother  alone  1  will  tell  you  where  you  can  find 
a  big  treasure.  After  that  you  may  kill  me  as 
soon  as  you  please." 

"Yes,  I  will  make  that  bargain.    Speak." 

"You  promise  that  you  will  not  hurt  my 
mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  promise." 

"  Well,  that  man  who  has  just  spoken,  who 
is  in  such  a  hurry  to  see  me  dead,  is  a  robber  like 
yourself.  His  name  is  Bastian.  He  has  stolen 
a  lot  of  treasure  from  the  churches.  It  is  hid- 
den— 

But  Bastian  threw  himself  on  the  bound  and 
helpless  man  and  seized  him  by  the  throat. 
"I'll  tear  your  lying  tongue  out!"  he  shouted. 
And  added,  to  the  others :  "  I  would  not  give  him 
my  daughter  Genevieve  in  marriage,  and  this  is 
how  he  is  trying  to  revenge  himself  on  me.  He 
is  telling  rotten  lies,"  and  he  thrust  back  the  gag 
into  Jean's  mouth.  Then,  that  he  might  torture 
the  son  through  the  mother,  he  dragged  Mother 


248  ®l)e  tol)ite  terror 

Caritous  from  where  she  had  fallen  to  toast  her 
before  the  fire.  With  an  oath,  half  of  anger  and 
half  of  fear,  he  loosed  his  hold  upon  her  and  she 
fell  heavily  to  the  floor.  He  was  balked  of  his 
cruelty.  Fright  and  shock  had  done  their  work. 
She  was  dead.  Her  son  had  no  time  in  which 
to  mourn  her.  Furious  that  he  refused  to  give 
up  his  secret,  Calisto  seized  an  axe  and  with  a 
single  blow  split  open  Jean's  head. 

Then  Jhe  pillage  began,  the  best  of  it  being 
ten  bags  of  crowns  which  they  found  hidden 
under  a  heap  of  rubbish  beneath  the  stair.  They 
divided  the  money  hurriedly,  and  then  heaped 
the  furniture  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  above 
the  bodies,  and  fired  it.  With  a  shout  of  "  Vive 
le  roi !  "  they  were  off  into  the  blackness  of  the 
night. 

The  next  day  the  charred  bodies  of  Jean  and 
his  mother  were  taken  from  the  ruins  of  that 
hospitable  home.  In  the  smouldering  stable 
was  a  shapeless  mass  that  once  had  been  the 
famous  white-footed  horse.  In  the  court-yard 
was  the  little  dead  dog. 

To  preserve  appearances,  the  Procureur  de  la 
Justice  went  through  the  form  of  an  official  in- 
quiry— but  nothing  came  of  it.  The  neighbours 
were  careful  not  to  tell  that  they  had  heard  the 
furious  barking  of  the  dog,  that  they  had  heard 
unusual  noises  in  the  house;  and  most  of  all 
were  they  careful  not  to  tell  that  they  had  heard 
a  shout  of  "Vive  le  roi!  "  They  were  wise  in 
their  generation,  the  neighbours.  They  had 
heads  of  their  own  which  might  be  split  open, 
and  houses  of  their  own  which  might  be  burned ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    COMPANIONS   OF  JEHU 

WHILE  the  Procureur  de  la  Justice  made  his 
abortive  inquiry,  Calisto  promenaded  the  Place 
de  1'Horloge  dressed  in  his  suit  of  silk  and  ele- 
gantly twirling  his  gold-headed  cane.  His 
henchmen,  less  elegant,  made  merry  with  their 
loot  of  silver  crowns.  They  found  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  Procureur  vastly  amusing — and  they 
continued  their  robbings  and  their  killings  with 
a  good  heart. 

But  Calisto  was  too  much  an  amateur  of 
such  sport  not  to  have  a  hand  in  the  larger  kill- 
ings which  were  going  on  in  the  South  in  those 
days,  and  too  kindly  in  his  nature  not  to  give 
his  men  the  pleasure  of  hearing  about  them 
when  he  returned  from  his  jaunts.  Moreover — 
his  men  being  of  the  opinion  that  killing  with- 
out robbery,  save  in  isolated  cases,  was  a  waste 
of  time — Calisto,  who  was  a  patriot,  wished  to 
enforce  upon  them  his  own  statesmanlike  con- 
viction that  the  killing  off  of  the  King's  enemies 
presently  would  bring  the  King  to  his  own 
again :  and  so  there  was  a  moral  to  the  stories 
which  he  told. 

"  You  think  that  there  is  no  sense  in  a  kill- 
ing that  isn't  paid  for,"  he  said.  "  Now  listen 
to  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  and  you  will  see 

243 


250 


that  you  are  wrong.  Last  week,  down  at  Mar- 
seilles, I  was  present  at  the  great  executions 
which  took  place  in  Fort  Saint  Nicholas  and 
Fort  Saint  Jean.  Well,  of  the  one  hundred  and 
thirty  wretches  whose  account  was  settled,  no 
less  than  eighty  were  men  who  had  belonged 
to  the  infamous  Marseilles  Battalion  —  those  ex- 
ecrable Reds  of  the  Midi  who  went  up  to  Paris 
to  besiege  the  King's  castle  and  who  murdered 
the  brave  Swiss  defenders  of  our  King!  Yes, 
eighty  of  those  brigands  perished!  Now  wasn't 
that  magnificent  ?  Wasn't  that  the  justice  of 
God  ?  It  is  true  that  there  was  no  money  in  it, 
but  there  was  something  almost  as  good  as 
money  —  for  those  monsters  were  more  to  be 
feared  than  wolves  in  a  fold.  Though  they 
were  fettered  and  shut  up  in  the  dungeons  of 
the  fort,  and  though  we  were  armed,  we  had 
to  lay  a  regular  siege  to  them  ;  and  they  fought 
like  the  brigands  that  they  were.  Why,  one  of 
them  —  a  one-armed  and  one-eyed  fellow  named 
Margan  —  managed  to  snatch  an  axe  from  one 
of  our  people  and  went  to  work  with  it  like  a 
fiend  incarnate.  He  got  his  back  against  the 
wall  and  cut  and  slashed  with  his  axe  at  such  a 
rate  that  we  only  got  the  better  of  him  by  pin- 
ning him  through  at  long  range  with  our  bayo- 
nets. And  even  then,  dying  on  our  bayonets 
and  with  his  blood  spurting  out  in  streams,  he 
defied  us  by  crying  'Vive  la  Republique!' 
Now,  I  put  it  to  you,  wasn't  it  worth  while  to 
kill  off  a  hound  like  that  just  for  the  good  of  the 
cause  and  without  pay  ? 

'  '  Coming  back  from  Marseilles  1  had  a  hand  in 
another  game  of  the  same  sort  in  Tarascon.    Shut 


(JTompanions  of  Setyn  251 


up  there  in  King  Rene's  Castle  were  thirty  more 
of  the  brigands—  not  members  of  that  infamous 
Red  Battalion,  to  be  sure,  but  almost  as  bad. 
Some  of  them  belonged  in  Tarascon,  the  rest 
came  from  Graveson  and  Barbentane  and  the 
other  roundabout  towns.  Of  course  it  was  ab- 
surd to  keep  alive  in  a  comfortable  prison  a 
parcel  of  scoundrels  who  ought  to  be  dead  and 
broiling  in  hell.  Some  honest  friends  of  mine 
were  quite  agreed  with  me  as  to  what  ought  to 
be  done,  and  we  set  to  work  and  did  it  —  posting 
a  proclamation  that  the  prisoners  had  mutinied 
and  were  about  to  break  out  from  the  Castle, 
and  ending  it  with  a  call  to  the  loyal  Whites  of 
Tarascon  to  crush  the  mutineers.  In  no  time 
we  had  half  a  hundred  brave  fellows  together, 
all  belonging  to  the  Companions  of  Jehu  or  to 
the  Companions  of  the  Sun.  That  was  as  many 
as  we  wanted,  and  away  we  went  to  the 
Castle.  It  was  between  nine  and  ten  at  nignt, 
and  the  full  moon  gave  us  almost  the  light 
of  day. 

"  We  knocked  at  the  Castle  gate,  and  when 
the  keepers  opened  to  us  we  clapped  pistols  to 
their  heads  and  shut  them  fast  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  room  in  their  own  jail^OThen  there  was 
nobody  to  bother  us,  and  we  went  at  our  work 
comfortably.  The  brigands  were  in  the  two 
towers  overlooking  the  Rhone,  twelve  in  one 
tower  and  eighteen  in  the  other.  We  got  rid 
of  the  twelve  easily  and  quickly.  They  were 
asleep  on  a  heap  of  straw.  We  went  in  quietly, 
and  before  they  knew  what  had  happened  we 
had  finished  them  with  bayonets  and  iron  bars. 
Then  we  carried  them,  dead  or  wounded,  to 
17 


252  ®[)e  tMljite  terror 

the  top  of  the  tower  and  pitched  them  over  the 
battlements  into  the  Rhone. 

"  In  the  other  tower,  though,  it  was  another 
song.  The  groans  and  the  cries  of  some  of  the 
fellows  we  were  carrying  up  the  stair,  and  the 
splashing  they  made  as  they  struck  the  water, 
had  waked  up  the  eighteen  rascals  and  had  put 
them  on  their  guard.  They  twisted  the  legs  off 
a  big  table  that  they  had  in  their  room  and  so 
armed  themselves  with  clubs,  and  with  the  rest 
of  the  table  they  barricaded  the  door.  Then 
they  sung  out  to  us  that  if  we  wanted  a  fight  to 
come  on.  But  we  weren't  going  to  risk  our 
skins  unless  we  had  to,  and  we  tried  a  trick  on 
them.  The  Procureur  was  with  us,  and  as  some 
of  them  were  likely  to  know  his  voice  we  made 
him  talk. 

"  'It  is  I,  the  Procureur  du  Roi,'  he  called 
through  the  key-hole.  '  I  am  here  to  let  you 
out  of  prison  and  to  send  you  to  your  homes. 
Why  have  you  barricaded  the  door  ?  Open  it, 
and  you  shall  go  free.' 

"'Yes,'  a  brigand  inside  answered,  'we 
shall  go  free  as  our  brothers  have  gone — into 
the  Rhone!' 

"  '  It  is  precisely  to  save  you  from  that  fate 
that  I,  the  Procureur  du  Roi,  am  here.  Open  to 
me.  I  have  come  to  set  you  free.' 

' '  '  You  lie,  and  you  know  you  lie ! '  answered 
the  brigand.  '  I  know  you! ' 

"'And  I  know  you.  You  are  Lieutard 
of  Graveson.  You  sent  your  two  sons  off  to 
fight  in  the  army  of  the  Republic.  You  deserve 
death,  for  you  are  a  traitor  to  your  King! ' 

"'If  I  deserve  death,   come  and  kill  me!' 


QLtye  Companions  of  Sel)tJ  253 

shouted  the  insolent  brute — and  then  all  of  the 
insolent  brutes  together  set  to  yelling  '  Vive  la 
Republique! '  till  they  drove  us  almost  wild. 

"After  that,  since  they  knew  what  we 
wanted,  there  was  no  use  in  mincing  matters; 
so  we  got  up  axes  and  tried  to  smash  in  the 
door.  But  the  door  was  lined  with  iron  and 
we  couldn't  smash  it  in.  Our  men  were  furious. 
'Death  to  the  brigands!'  they  shouted,  while 
the  brigands  answered  us  with  '  Death  to  the 
Tyrant!'  And  for  a  while  we  yelled  at  each 
other  through  the  door  that  they  wouldn't  open 
and  that  we  couldn't  break  in. 

"Then  one  of  our  men,  a  mason,  had  a  good 
idea.  '  From  the  floor  above,'  he  said,  '  we  can 
take  out  the  keystone  of  the  vault  of  this  room. 
Then  we  can  throw  down  burning  tow  and  fire 
the  straw  that  serves  them  for  a  bed— and  so 
smoke  them  out,  as  you  smoke  a  fox  out  of  his 
hole!' 

"  Up  the  stair  we  all  scrambled  with  a  shout; 
and  there  we  found,  by  a  miracle  of  God,  that 
the  keystone  was  loose  and  could  be  lifted  out 
from  its  setting — having  been  arranged  that  way 
of  old,  so  that  the  prisoners  in  that  chamber 
could  be  spied  upon  from  above.  K^hen  we  had 
indeed  the  upper  hand;  and  when  t.he  brigands 
saw  us  looking  down  at  them  through  the  hole 
they  changed  their  tune  and  went  to  singing 
small.  They  promised  to  open  to  us  provided 
we  would  spare  their  lives;  and  we,  ready  to 
promise  anything,  told  them  that  their  lives 
should  be  spared  provided  they  would  come  out 
one  by  one,  stark  naked,  and  with  nothing  in 
their  hands.  And  to  that  they  agreed. 


254  ®l)e  fcOljite  terror 

"So  down  we  went  to  the  door  again,  and 
they  opened  it,  and  out  came  the  first  man.  We 
let  him  pass  quietly,  to  encourage  the  others, 
until  our  men  in  the  rear  could  grab  him  and 
whisk  him  up  the  stair  to  the  roof  of  the  tower. 
When  we  got  him  there  we  didn't  keep  him  for 
seed!  With  a  knife  at  his  heart  we  forced  him 
to  shout  '  Vive  le  roi ! ' — then  in  went  the  knife, 
in  a  fashion  that  took  the  taste  for  bread  out  of 
him,  and  over  the  battlements  he  went  into  the 
Rhone!  And  so  it  went  with  them — up  the 
stair  and  over  the  battlements — until  the  room 
below  was  bare. 

"We  hadn't  kept  careful  count  of  them,  as 
we  should  have  done,  but  to  some  of  us  it 
seemed  that  we'd  only  polished  off  seventeen ; 
and  while  we  were  talking  about  it  the  Pro- 
cureur  said  that  he  was  sure  that  we  had  missed 
Lieutard — the  worst  villain  of  them  all.  '  I  can't 
be  mistaken,'  said  the  Procureur.  '  That  brigand 
of  a  Lieutard  looks  like  nobody  but  himself. 
I'd  know  him  anywhere  by  his  big  black  beard.' 

"•Well,'  said  I,  'it's  easy  enough  to  settle 
the  matter.  They  all  came  out  naked.  We 
can  count  their  shirts.  If  there  are  eighteen 
shirts  we'll  know  for  sure  that  we've  finished 
the  eighteen  men.' 

"  '  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  right,'  said  the  Pro- 
cureur, and  down  we  went  and  counted  the 
shirts.  There  were  eighteen  of  them ;  and  so, 
although  the  Procureur  was  not  quite  satisfied, 
we  came  away. 

"  But  just  as  we  were  turning  the  corner  of 
the  Castle,  going  toward  the  church  of  St.  Mar- 
tha, we  heard  a  voice  up  in  the  air  above  us  shout- 


®l)c  (Companions  of  leljtt  255 

ing  '  Vive  la  Republique! '  and  as  we  looked  up 
in  a  hurry  we  saw  a  big  black-bearded  naked 
man  standing  on  the  battlements  of  the  tower. 
The  next  instant  he  went  flashing  down  through 
the  moonlight  and  shot  with  a  great  splash  into 
the  Rhone !  Back  we  hurried  to  the  river  bank, 
and  in  a  moment  we  saw  him  swimming  away 
strongly  toward  the  Beaucaire  shore.  Those  of 
us  who  had  guns  cracked  away  at  him ;  but  we 
could  not  make  him  out  well  in  the  broken 
water,  and  the  rush  and  the  swirl  of  the  river 
swung  him  about  at  such  a  rate  that  he  was  not 
a  good  mark.  After  awhile,  though,  we  lost 
sight  of  him ;  and  were  sure  that  one  of  our  balls 
had  hit  him  and  had  done  for  him.  We  waited 
awhile,  listening;  but  we  heard  only  the  gur- 
gling murmur  of  the  little  whirlpools — as  they 
boiled  up  and  broke  in  that  strong  current  hur- 
rying on  to  the  sea.  At  last  we  turned  away — 
and  just  then  what  did  we  hear  but  '  Long  live 
the  Republic!  Death  to  the  Tyrant! '  coming  in 
a  faint  shout  from  the  Beaucaire  shore!  The 
next  day  we  went  back  to  the  Castle  and  found 
out  how  he  had  managed  to  get  away  from  us. 
Then,  in  broad  daylight,  we  could  see  that  there 
was  a  lot  of  fresh  soot  and  broken  scraps  of 
mortar  in  the  fireplace.  What  he  had  d6ne  was 
to  strip  himself,  and  then  wriggle  up  the  chim- 
ney to  the  roof  of  the  tower.  And  so,"  said 
Calisto  in  moralizing  conclusion,  "that  time 
the  devil  took  care  of  his  own!  " 

"  And  is  that  infamous  brigand  still  alive  ?" 
asked  Lou  Pounchu,  one  of  the  worst  of  Calisto's 
ruffians.  "  If  he  is,  let  us  find  him  and  kill  him 
at  once!  " 


256  ®l)c      bite  (Emor 

"He  is  alive,"  Calisto  answered;  "but  he 
will  be  dead  before  another  daybreak.  I  shall 
lead  you  to  him  to-night — and  you  will  know 
what  to  do  when  you  have  him  in  your  hands! 
We  will  kill  him  for  the  good  of  the  cause — 
there  will  be  no  chance  in  his  case  for  robbery. 
But  you  shall  not  come  back  empty-handed. 
When  we  have  finished  with  him  we  will  look 
in  upon  our  friend  Bastian  and  ask  him  in  a 
friendly  way  to  give  us  a  share  of  his  swag  from 
the  churches.  He  has  not  behaved  toward  us 
as  a  good  comrade  should  behave  Since  Cari- 
tous  told  us  about  his  treasure  we  have  not  laid 
eyes  on  him  For  him  to  forsake  our  company 
in  this  fashion  is  as  uncivil  as  His  failure  to 
divide  with  us  is  unfair.  To-night,  then,  if  you 
are  agreed,  we  will  pay  him  a  friendly  call.  No 
doubt  we  can  induce  him  to  apologize  to  us  in 
a  practical  way!" 

"No  doubt  we  can!"  said  Loa  Pounchu 
grimly.  And  he  and  the  others  fingered  their 
knives. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  DARK  NIGHT'S  WORK 

GALISTO  did  not  know  where  the  patriot 
Lieutard  was  hidden,  and  he  did  not  intend  to 
take  his  men  in  search  of  him.  But  he  did  mean 
to  take  them  to  a  killing,  and  he  had  told  his 
story  with  the  deliberate  purpose  of  inflaming 
their  minds.  There  still  was  one  man  in  Avi- 
gnon who  he  believed  might  be  able  to  tell  him 
where  Lazuli  and  Adeline  were  hidden,  and  that 
was  Vauclair's  friend  Sergeant  Berigot.  It  was 
to  Sergeant  Berigot's  house  that  his  men  were 
to  be  led. 

When  they  came  together  at  the  house  of 
Canon  Jusserand,  after  nightfall,  Calisto  had 
doffed  his  fine  clothes  and  was  dressed,  as  were 
the  others,  coarsely.  Each  man  wore  on  the 
breast  of  his  carmagnole — his  rough  woollen 
jacket — a  red  cross;  and  on  his  hat  a  rtd  fleur- 
de-lys.  All  of  them  were  armed  with  knives 
and  pistols.  When  they  had  put  on  masks,  or 
had  blackened  their  faces,  they  were  ready  to 
start. 

Calisto  led  them  to  the  Rue  du  Pont  Troue  and 
halted  them  before  a  sorry  little  house  of  which 
the  door  stood  ajar — as  is  the  custom  with  the 
houses  of  the  very  poor.  There  was  a  light  in 
an  upper  window,  and  from  the  room  where  the 

257 


258  ®|)c  U)l)ite 


light  was  came  the  ron-ron  of  a  winder,  and  the 
quick  click-clack  of  a  silk-weaver's  loom.  With 
these  sounds  came  also  the  fretful  whimperings 
of  a  sleepy  child,  and  the  soft  melody  of  a  lul- 
laby: 

Baby's  so  sleepy  ! 

Baby  wants  Sleep  ! 
Why  won't  Sleep  come  to  him  ? 

Come,  naughty  Sleep  ! 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Calisto.  "  Follow  me 
softly,"  and  he  pushed  the  door  open  gently  and 
crept  up  the  stair  with  his  men  at  his  heels.  In 


spite  of  their  caution,  their  groping  hands  and 

gave  the  alarm.     Th 
the  loom  and  of  the  winder  stopped.     So  did 


stumbling  feet  gave  the  alarm.     The  sound  of 


the  lullaby.  As  Calisto  felt  in  the  dark  for  the 
door-latch  a  man's  voice  cried  out  sharply: 
"Who's  there?" 

Calisto  had  found  the  latch.  He  flung  the 
door  open,  and  crying  "Yield  to  the  King's  jus- 
tice! "  tried  to  rush  into  the  room.  But  the  lit- 
tle room  was  crowded  so  full  by  the  loom  and 
the  winder  and  the  cradle  that  there  barely  was 
space  to  squeeze  into  it  past  the  partly  opened 
door.  His  men  could  not  follow  him.  Being 
inside,  he  could  not  get  around  the  loom  to  Ser- 
geant Berigot  without  shutting  the  door  again 
and  so  cutting  himself  off  from  his  support.  He 
drew  his  pistol  and  levelled  it  at  the  Sergeant  — 
whose  wife  had  flung  herself,  screaming,  upon 
the  cradle  to  protect  the  child. 

Sergeant  Berigot,  who  had  not  served  in  the 
National  Guard  for  nothing,  kept  his  wits  about 
him.  As  Calisto  raised  the  pistol  he  blew  out 
the  light.  Taking  the  chances,  Calisto  fired  in 


31  IDork  Night's  fcOork  259 

the  dark.  There  was  a  sound  of  scuffling  on 
the  floor  that  made  him  believe  that  he  had  hit 
his  man.  But  he  had  not.  Berigot  had  dropped 
to  the  floor  and  was  crawling  under  the  loom. 
The  next  instant  Calisto's  legs  were  jerked  from 
under  him,  and  in  an  instant  more  Berigot  had 
squeezed  him  through  the  doorway  and  had 
flung  him  down  stairs  on  the  heads  of  his  own 
men.  Then  worse  happened.  In  the  pitch 
darkness  his  men  thought  that  they  had  got 
hold  of  the  escaping  Sergeant.  "  I've  got  him!  " 
cried  Lou  Pounchu,  and  he  settled  his  fingers 
into  Calisto's  throat  in  what  was  meant  to  be  a 
death-grip. 

Sergeant  Berigot  himself  undeceived  them. 
With  his  weaver's  bar  he  hammered  away  from 
the  top  of  the  stair,  breaking  so  many  heads 
that  the  cowards — not  venturing  in  that  black 
pocket  to  use  their  pistols,  for  fear  of  hitting, 
each  other — fairly  took  to  their  heels.  Down 
they  came  with  a  rush,  trampling  on  Calisto, 
and  down  came  Berigot,  brandishing  his  bar, 
after  them.  He  too  trampled  on  Calisto,  and 
fancied  that  he  had  been  lucky  enough  to  kill 
one  of  his  assailants.  He  did  not  stop  to  make 
investigations.  On  he  went  after  the  others, 
and  fairly  chased  them  to  the  end  of  thb  street. 
Then,  very  short  of  wind,  he  came  back  to  have 
a  look  at  the  dead  man  on  his  stair. 

But,  alas,  it  was  no  dead  man!  Calisto  was 
badly  bruised,  but  he  was  very  much  alive.  He 
was  just  leaving  the  house  when  he  heard  the 
sound  of  Berigot's  returning  footsteps.  Drawing 
his  other  pistol,  he  hid  himself  behind  the  door. 
And  God  was  not  watching !  God  was  not  there ! 


260  (Jljc  ittyite  ®crror 

Berigot  entered  the  house,  stepping  gingerly 
in  the  darkness  because  of  the  dead  body  that 
he  thought  was  lying  there.  "  Don't  be  fright- 
ened, dearie,"  he  called  to  his  wife.  "  I've  driven 
off  the  Royalist  murderers.  We're  safe  now." 
And  he  began  to  ascend  the  stair. 

And  then,  behind  him,  a  voice  shouted  : 
"  Brigand!  Long  live  the  King!  "  For  the  sec- 
ond time  a  pistol  shot  shook  the  little  house, 
and  this  time  it  was  a  shot  that  killed.  The  ball 
struck  Berigot  between  the  shoulders.  He  fell 
forward  on  his  own  stair,  dead. 

Having  made  sure  in  the  darkness  that  his 
work  was  accomplished,  Calisto  left  the  house 
and  slowly  and  painfully  made  his  way  toward 
the  Rue  du  Limas.  Presently  he  met  his  men — 
grown  braver  when  Berigot's  back  was  turned 
on  them — coming  back  to  look  for  him.  It  gave 
them  sincere  pleasure  to  learn  that  Berigot  was 
dead.  Their  heads  were  aching  from  the  ham- 
mering that  he  had  given  them  with  his  devil 
of  a  weaver's  bar. 

"And  now,"  said  Rocofort — a  Rhone  porter 
who  had  given  up  porterage  for  robbery — "we'll 
pay  our  visit  to  friend  Bastian." 

"Yes,"  said  Lou  Pounchu.  "We'll  go  to 
him  really  as  friends  and  ask  him  to  divide. 
And  he'd  better  meet  us  as  friends  and  make  a 
fair  division — if  he  don't,  he'll  have  to  cut  his 
stick  like  the  others,  and  we'll  take  the  whole!  " 

Just  then  there  was  a  noise  that  made  them 
all  shiver.  It  sounded  like  the  roll  of  a  drum ; 
and  the  music  of  drums — with  which  patrols 
were  apt  to  be  associated — was  not  pleasant  in 
their  ears.  It  drew  nearer  steadily,  and  though 


01  EDork  3ugl)t'0  iHork  261 

it  sounded  less  and  less  drum-like,  it  was  a 
noise  that  they  could  not  account  for  and  that 
thrilled  them  with  a  lively  fear.  As  it  came 
quite  close,  they  squeezed  themselves  into  a 
deep  doorway;  and  so  waited  until  the  danger, 
whatever  it  was,  should  pass.  They  were  a 
little  ashamed  of  themselves  when  there  came 
around  the  corner  a  man  wheeling  a  rumbling 
wheel-barrow.  But  in  another  moment,  forget- 
ting their  fears  and  remembering  their  business 
duties,  they  had  lined  up  across  the  street  and 
Lou  Pounchu  called  sharply:  "  Halt!  Long  live 
the  King!  " 

"  Long  live  the  King!"  answered  the  man 
with  the  wheel-barrow. 

All  of  them  recognised  the  voice.  "  Why!  " 
exclaimed  Rocofort,  "it  is  our  good  friend  Bas- 
tian !  And  what  in  the  world  are  you  wheeling 
around  in  your  wheel-barrow  at  this  time  of 
night,  Bastian  ?  Is  it  your  church  treasure  that 
you  have  here  under  the  manure  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Bastian  answered,  perceiving  that 
he  was  caught  and  must  make  the  best  of  it. 
"I  was  taking  it  off  to  hide  it  in  a  fresh  place, 
where  I  was  going  to  bring  you  to  divide  it 
with  me.  But  since  we've  happened  to  meet, 
this  way,  we  might  just  as  well  divide  it  iiow." 
In  truth,  Bastian  was  in  a  hurry  to  make  the 
division  and  so  get  rid  of  them.  If  he  could 
satisfy  them  with  this  small  part  of  his  treasure, 
the  rest  would  be  safe. 

In  a  moment  they  all  were  crowded  close 
about  the  wheel-barrow,  the  covering  of  manure 
was  scratched  away,  and  each  snatched  up  the 
biggest  piece  of  silver  that  he  could  lay  hands 


262  (Elje  tiOljite  terror 

on.  ''Stop,  comrades,  stop!"  said  Calisto. 
"We  must  divide  evenly.  This  is  a  game  at 
which  we  must  play  fair"."  And  then,  turning 
to  Bastian,  he  added:  "You  know  just  what 
you've  got  here,  Bastian.  Sort  it  out  into  six 
parcels  of  about  equal  value.  Then  we'll  settle 
the  ownership  of  each  by  drawing  lots." 

"Into  six  parcels?"  Bastian  grumbled. 
"  Don't  you  mean  me  to  have  a  share  of  what 
is  all  my  own  ?" 

"  Yes,  that's  only  fair,"  said  the  others. 
"Bastian  ought  to  have  a  share  of  his  own 
swag." 

The  finest  piece  of  the  treasure  was  a  mag- 
nificent monstrance — a  great  golden  sun  richly 
studded  with  precious  stones.  By  common 
consent,  this  was  set  aside  as  the  share  of 
"Monsieur  le  Comte."  What  remained — the 
pyxes  and  chalices  and  salvers  and  basins  and 
ewers — was  sorted  out  by  Bastian  into  six  little 
heaps,  ranged  in  a  row  on  the  cobble  stones  of 
the  street  and  showing  dimly  as  here  and  there 
the  polished  silver  caught  the  reflection  of  the 
stars.  Then  Lou  Pounchu  turned  his  back  on 
the  heaps,  and  Rocofort  pointed  to  one  of  them 
and  asked :  ' '  Whose  is  this  one  ?  " 

"  Mine!  "  Lou  Pounchu  answered  promptly, 
and  there  was  a  little  laugh  at  his  eagerness  to 
make  sure  of  his  own.  The  remaining  five  were 
disposed  of  in  the  same  fashion,  and  then,  by 
way  of  a  joke,  Rocofort  pointed  to  Lou  Poun- 
chu's  knife,  that  had  dropped  beside  the  wheel- 
barrow, and  asked:  "To  whom  does  this  be- 
long ?  "  Puzzled  by  the  question,  Lou  Pounchu 
turned  around  to  see  at  what  Rocofort  pointed. 


&  JUark  Night's  iDork  263 

"Oh,"  he  answered,  entering  into  the  joke, 
"that  belongs  to  the  Republic.  She  shall  have 
it  in  her  heart!" 

They  separated,  each  with  his  share  of  the 
spoil;  and  Calisto  slowly  and  painfully-r-for  his 
bones  were  aching  and  his  monstrance  was  a 
heavy  load — made  his  way  to  the  house  of  the 
Canon  Jusserand.  Although  the  hour  was  late 
the  Canon  had  not  gone  to  bed.  Hearing  Ca- 
listo unlocking  the  door  and  locking  it  again,  he 
came  shuffling  out  in  his  slippers  to  meet  him — 
and  stopped  in  astonishment  when  he  saw  by 
the  light  of  the  lamp  in  the  passage  what  Ca- 
listo bore  in  his  arms.  With  a  seemly  reverence 
he  bent  his  knees  before  the  monstrance  and 
very  devoutly  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  As 
he  arose  he  asked  in  wonier:  "How  did  that 
holy  treasure  come  into  your  hands  ?  " 

"By  the  will  of  God,"  Calisto  answered, 
with  an  admirable  reverence  of  tone  and  a  com- 
prehensive disregard  of  fact.  "I  was  searching, 
as  I  am  always  searching,  for  the  Comtessine — 
and  in  the  house  of  a  Republican  brigand  I  found 
this  sacred  vessel.  As  it  was  more  fit  that  I 
should  have  it  than  he,  I  brought  it  away.  The 
wretch  had  it  hidden  in  a  pile  of  dung!  " 

"Sacrilege!"  exclaimed  the  Canon,  raising 
his  eyes  to  heaven.  And  then,  lowering  his 
eyes,  he  asked:  "And  the  Comtessine?  Did 
you  get  news  of  her  ?  " 

"No,  none,"  Calisto  answered  in  a  melan- 
choly tone.  "  I  am  satisfied  that  she  cannot  be 
in  Avignon.  She  still  must  be  hidden  some- 
where in  the  mountains,  among  the  wolves." 

"  She  is  not  hidden  in  the  mountains,"  said 


264  ®I)£  toljite  QTerror 

the  Canon,  speaking  slowly  and  earnestly. 
"She  is  here  in  Avignon.  1  saw  her,  1  spoke 
with  her,  this  very  day!" 

Calisto  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Impossible!" 
he  cried. 

"  No,  it  is  not  impossible.  What  I  tell  you 
is  true.  She  is  in  the  Convent  of  Saint  Ursula. 
To-morrow  you  shall  see  her  for  yourself.  I 
will  take  you  with  me  there  to  serve  the  mass." 

Canon  Jusserand  arose  from  his  seat,  knelt 
again  before  the  monstrance  and  crossed  him- 
self; and  then,  without  another  word,  shuffled 
off  to  bed! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   SERPENT    AND   THE   WREN 

CALISTO'S  delight  was  so  great  that  it  quite 
confounded  him.  In  a  maze  he  listened  to  the 
lessening  sound  of  the  Canon's  shuffling  steps. 
When  he  heard  them  no  longer  he  half  fancied 
that  he  must  be  dreaming,  and  pinched  himself 
and  rubbed  his  eyes.  Could  it  be  possible,  he 
asked  himself,  that  Adeline  really  was  found  ? 
That  she  was  there  in  Avignon,  close  to  him  ? 
That  on  the  coming  morning  he  would  see  her, 
perhaps  speak  to  her  ?  That  presently  he  would 
bring  her  away  from  her  convent,  and  would 
carry  her  as  his  bride  to  the  Chateau  de  la  Ver- 
nede  ?  His  mind  was  in  a  whirl! 

As  he  grew  calmer,  and  realized  that  his 
happiness  was  founded  in  very  truth,  thoughts 
of  his  glad  future  went  softly  through  his  mind. 
Ah,  he  would  be  so  good  to  her,  so  gentle  with 
her!  He  had  had  enough  of  his  robber  and 
murderer  life.  Peace  and  tranquility  in  the 
companionship  of  that  innocent  and  beautiful 
young  girl  would  be  welcome  to  him !  Thence- 
forward his  life  should  be  that  of  a  worthy  cit- 
izen and  an  honourable  nobleman.  He  had 
promised  to  join  the  Royalist  army  that  had 
proclaimed  the  King  at  Carpentras,  that  was 
ravaging  all  the  region  thereabouts  and  spilling 

265 


266  &\)e  03l)ite  terror 

the  blood  of  the  Reds  in  streams.  Well,  that 
promise  should  be  cancelled.  Others  should 
punish  the  Reds  for  their  treason.  His  part  in 
the  new  order  of  things  should  be  worthily  to 
maintain  the  traditions  of  the  nobility  upon  his 
own  estates.  And  all  was  such  plain  sailing 
before  him.  Adeline  was  safe  in  a  convent, 
clear  away  from  the  malignant  influence  of  the 
Vauclairs;  he  had  her  mother's  written  com- 
mand that  she  should  marry  him;  if  she  ven- 
tured to  resist  that  command  he  had  Canon 
Jusserand,  her  confessor,  to  tell  her  that  it  was 
the  will  of  Heaven  that  she  should  obey.  His 
position  was  impregnable.  What  he  wanted 
he  surely  would  have.  Ah,  life  was  opening 
fairly  to  him  at  last! 

Tired  out  by  the  galloping  of  these  thoughts 
through  his  brain,  and  sore  and  weary  from  his 
night's  work,  he  went  to  his  bed.  But  sleep 
would  not  come  to  him.  In  the  darkness  his 
bright  hopes  left  him  and  in  their  place  came 
black  memories  of  his  crimes:  the  murder  of 
Berigot  that  very  night;  of  the  prisoners  in  Mar- 
seilles and  Tarascon  the  week  before;  of  six 
peasants  at  Caromb,  whom  he  had  forced  to  dig 
their  own  graves  and  then  had  caused  to  be 
shot  while  their  wives  and  children  stood  close 
by;  of  old  Bernus  de  Mazan — so  old,  over  ninety 
years,  that  he  had  been  carried  forth  from  his 
home  in  his  big  arm-chair.  His  own  son,  a 
priest,  had  been  forced  to  confess  and  to  absolve 
him,  and  then  to  stand  by  while  Calisto  thrust 
a  knife  into  the  old  man's  heart.  And  so,  from 
crime  to  crime,  his  memory  went  back  to  the 
first  of  all:  when  he  murdered  his  kind  old 


i£l)e  Serpent  anb  tl)e  tOren          267 

master,  the  Comte  de  la  Vernede.  There  in 
the  darkness  he  felt  again  the  hot  blood  spurt- 
ing into  his  face  from  the  three  deep  stabs  that 
he  gave  to  the  man  who  had  been  a  father  to 
him.  No  water  ever  could  wash  away  the  taint 
of  that  blood — and  because  he  was  tainted  by 
it,  he  thought  with  a  shivering  groan,  never 
would  the  Comtessine  consent  to  lay  her  pure 
hand  in  his. 

That  dismal  conviction  changed  the  current 
of  his  thoughts  and  sent  him  off  into  a  frenzy  of 
rage  against  the  Vauclairs — by  whom,  as  he  be- 
lieved, Adeline  had  been  told  of  his  crime. 
Forgetting  his  intended  reformation,  he  was 
filled  with  a  fierce  desire  to  murder  all  three  of 
them — the  father,  the  mother,  the  brat  of  a 
child.  With  them  well  out  of  the  way  he  be- 
lieved that  he  could  convince  Adeline,  Canon 
Jusserand  helping  him,  that  all  which  they  had 
told  her  about  him  was  a  parcel  of  lies.  "And 
then,"  he  said  to  himself,  "everything  would 
be  well  with  me.  I  would  prove  to  her  that  I 
had  been  her  mother's  friend  and  confidant;  I 
would  show  her  that  I  was  unselfish  by  restor- 
ing to  her  her  chateau  and  her  estates;  I  would 
compel  her  to  believe  in  my  virtue  by  my  good 
conduct  as  a  citizen  and  by  my  charity  to  the 
poor.  She  could  not  but  respect  me,  and  tr\en 
esteem  me;  in  the  end,  surely,  she  would  give 
me  her  love!" 

Day  was  beginning  to  break.  Out  in  the 
street  the  captains  of  the  Rhone  boats  were 
walking  to  the  near-by  wharves,  shouting  morn- 
ing greetings  to  each  other.  Calisto  gave  over 
his  attempt  to  sleep  and  got  up — moving  stiffly 

18 


268  ®l)e  tOljite  terror 

because  of  his  bruised  body,  but  very  light  of 
heart.  He  had  business  to  transact  before  going 
with  the  Canon  to  serve  the  mass  in  the  Con- 
vent of  Saint  Ursula — a  message  to  send  off  to 
inform  Lou  Pounchu  that  he  would  not  go  out 
that  night  with  the  Verdets.  This  was  one  of 
the  larger  robber  companies.  It  took  its  name 
from  the  green  ribbon  worn  on  the  arm  of  each 
of  its  members,  and  its  usual  field  of  action  was 
Lower  Provence.  By  preference,  it  preyed  upon 
Reds  and  Moderates;  but  its  members  were  not 
rigorously  bound  by  the  ties  of  politics  and  in  a 
broad-minded  way  robbed  wherever  money 
was  to  be  found. 

Calisto's  decision  not  to  go  out  with  the 
Verdets  was  based  in  part  in  his  newly-formed 
intention  to  lead  the  life  of  a  reputable  citizen. 
But  for  some  little  time  he  had  been  drawing 
toward  that  same  intention  for  reasons  of  another 
sort  With  each  passing  month  a  certain  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte  was  becoming  more  and  more  of 
a  power  in  the  affairs  of  France,  and  that  he 
would  use  his  power  in  the  interest  of  the 
Royalists  seemed  to  be  utterly  improbable. 
There  even  were  whispers  that  he  would  use 
his  power  for  himself  alone;  that  he  would  up- 
set the  Directory  and  make  himself  the  ruler  of 
France.  That  he  could  do  this  if  he  wanted  to 
do  it,  the  keen-sighted  Calisto  did  not  doubt. 
Already  Bonaparte  had  done  a  great  deal.  He 
had  taken  Avignon  back  from  the  Federalists; 
he  had  wrenched  Toulon  from  the  Royalists 
and  the  English;  he  had  routed  five  Austrian 
armies  and  one  Piedmontese  army,  and  had 
compelled  the  rulers  of  Sardinia  and  Modena 


®l)e  Serpent  anb  tl)e  tOren  269 

and  Tuscany  and  Austria  and  the  Pope  himself 
to  sue  for  peace;  he  had  set  up  beyond  the  Alps 
a  new  Republic.  Such  a  devil  of  a  man  as  that 
obviously  could  do  anything.  Therefore  it  was 
not  all  for  love  that  Calisto  was  disposed  to  put 
on  the  garments  of  good  citizenship.  That  was 
a  neutral  garb.  Being  clad  in  it,  he  could  await 
the  outcome  of  events  in  safety.  If  the  King 
came  to  his  own  again,  well  and  good.  In 
that  case  Calisto  would  be  the  stanchest  of 
Royalists,  and  would  claim  Royal  protection  in 
holding  his  title  and  his  estates.  If  this  man 
Bonaparte  came  to  the  front,  then  Calisto  would 
be  the  stanchest  of  the  supporters  of  what- 
ever form  of  government  happened  to  be 
set  up — and  would  claim  protection  in  his 
estates  certainly,  and  in  his  title  if  titles  sur- 
vived. 

Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Vernede  was  far 
from  being  singular  in  holding  fast  to  this  highly 
practical  patriotism.  And  as  we  look;  through 
France  to-day  we  see  ample  proof  that  his  policy 
was  a  policy  tha{  paid.  Many  a  titled  gentle- 
man who  now  wears  the  fleur-de-lys  got  his 
title,  and  his  estate  to  support  it,  from  a  grand- 
father who  stole  them  both.  The  points  may 
be  urged  that  these  Royalist  grandsons  of  thieves 
are  to-day  the  supporters  of  religion  and  of  o^ler; 
and,  under  any  circumstances,  that  they  are  not 
responsible  for  their  grandfathers'  crimes.  And 
to  these  points  the  answer  may  be  made  that 
in  the  blood  of  these  respectable  rich  men  is  the 
seed  of  crime  ready  to  germinate.  While  their 
riches  stay  by  them  they  well  may  be  honest. 
But  let  poverty  come  to  pinch  them  and  we  need 


270  ®t)e  tDt)ite 


not  doubt  that  off  they  will  go,  every  one  of 
them,  to  their  old  trade! 

But  no  such  moral  reflections  as  these 
troubled  Calisto  on  that  morning  which  followed 
the  night  of  Sergeant  Berigot's  murder.  His 
face  was  set  forward,  and  the  murder  of  poor 
Berigot  was  a  thing  already  of  the  past.  Light 
of  heart,  he  sent  off  the  servant  with  his  mes- 
sage to  Lou  Pounchu;  and  then  set  himself  to 
dressing  in  his  finest  suit  of  silk,  to  making  his 
person  elegant  with  powder  and  pomade, 
that  he  might  be  ready  betimes  to  go  with 
Canon  Jusserand  to  serve  the  mass.  The  thought 
of  the  happiness  so  soon  to  come  to  him  thrilled 
him  with  delight.  Already  he  felt  Adeline's 
hand  in  his  as  he  led  her  over  the  threshold  of 
the  Chateau  de  la  Vernede  in  the  forest  of 
Aramon.  There  she  would  be  his  very  own; 
there  this  lily  of  virtue  would  hide  the  dung- 
heap  of  his  crimes!  He  was  impatient  to  be  off 
to  the  convent.  He  chafed  at  each  moment  of 
delay. 

But  Monsieur  le  Chanoine  Jusserand  was 
sleeping  like  a  saint!  He  had  no  reason  for  ris- 
ing especially  early  that  morning,  and  he  slum- 
bered on  as  slumbers  one  whose  conscience  is 
at  ease.  In  point  of  fact,  it  was  at  ease.  That 
fanatic  for  King  and  Pope  was  satisfied  with 
his  own  doings.  Acting  in  perfect  good  faith, 
when  the  Pope's  Legate  ruled  in  Avignon,  he 
had  presided  over  the  tribunal  which  condemned 
poor  wretches  to  have  their  tongues  pierced 
with  red-hot  irons,  and  then  to  pass  on  to  the 
galleys,  for  the  sin  of  taking  God's  name  in  vain; 
which  condemned  the  father  of  a  family  to  the 


®l)c  Serpent  cmb  the  tXIrcn          271 

strapado  or  the  rack  for  the  crime  of  walking  the 
streets  at  night  without  a  lantern.  In  the  same 
good  faith,  when  the  Royalist  order  came  from 
Coblenz,  he  had  put  on  the  red  cap  and  had 
helped  Maignet — that  wolf  of  the  Terror — to 
guillotine  moderate  Republicans  and  those  who 
were  lukewarm  for  the  Pope.  Heaven  and  the 
Pope  himself  approved  of  every  means  which 
would  restore  the  country  to  the  King  and  the 
Church  to  its  rights  again ;  therefore  he  felt  that 
he  was  doing  his  duty  in  furthering  excesses  of 
cruelty  which  would  hasten  reaction*in  favour 
of  his  temporal  and  spiritual  lords.  And  the 
men  of  the  Terror  were  so  blind  that  they  suf- 
fered this  game  to  be  played !  They  suffered  a 
priest  who  had  spit  at  the  banner  of  the  Rights 
of  Man  to  disguise  himself  in  a  red  cap  and  to 
make  tools  of  them  to  send  the  reddest  of  Reds 
to  the  guillotine! 

It  was  a  game  that  was  played  not  alone  in 
Avignon.  By  a  priest,  Jourdan  Chop-head  was 
denounced  as  an  Aristocrat  and  brought  to  the 
scaffold.  Jourdan  Chop-head  an  Aristocrat! 
He  who  got  his  name  because  it  was  believed 
that  he  had  cut  off  the  head  of  the  Governor  of 
the  Bastille ;  who  led  the  peasants  to  the  sack- 
ing of  the  monks'  granaries  in  Avignon ;  who 
was  charged  with  the  massacre  of  the  sixty- 
three  Aristocrats  shut  up  in  the  tower  of  La 
Glaciere!  But  the  priest  who  compassed  Jour- 
dan's  death  acted,  according  to  his  lights,  in 
good  faith  and  did  not  consciously  commit  a 
sin. 

It  was  the  men  of  the  Convention  who 
sinned.  Blindly  they  gave  themselves  as  tools 


272  '    ®l)e  tOliitc  terror 

to  fanatical  priests — the  Gregoires,  the  Jusse- 
rands,  the  Sieyes — who  gained  their  ends  by 
professing  a  creed  which  'they  hated;  who  re- 
mained always  the  venomous  nettles  of  the  In- 
quisition that  they  always  had  been!  The  men 
of  the  Revolution,  too  blind  to  see  the  trick 
that  was  put  upon  them,  perished  with  the 
Revolution.  The  grave  that  they  dug  for  the 
Tyrant  was  their  own  grave  also;  the  banner  of 
the  Rights  of  Man  which  they  had  raised  was 
their  dazzling  shroud.  They  died,  but  the  ban- 
ner whicfi  was  their  shroud  did  not  rot  with 
them.  It  has  survived,  glorious  and  imperish- 
able— being  woven  with  a  warp  of  Reason  and 
a  woof  of  Justice,  as  were  the  Commandments 
given  on  Mount  Sinai  amidst  lightning  and 
thunder  by  the  hand  of  God. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    DEVIL   SERVES  THE   MASS 

AT  daybreak,  when  the  shuttles  of  the  early- 
rising  silk-weavers  began  to  clatter  in  their 
looms,  Canon  Jusserand  awoke  from  his  saintly 
slumber,  crossed  himself,  joined  his  hands 
meetly,  and  devoutly  recited  his  angelus. 
While  he  dressed  he  mumbled  prayers  to  all  the 
saints  in  Paradise:  for  the  peace  of  his  own  soul, 
for  the  well-being  of  his  holy  father  the  Pope, 
for  the  speedy  uplifting  to  power  of  Louis  XVII, 
his  king.  Being  dressed,  he  knelt  before  his 
ivory  crucifix  and  implored  most  holy  Christ  to 
aid  the  army  of  the  outland  allies  of  the  Royal- 
ists to  conquer  the  army  of  the  Republic;  to 
sound,  if  need  be,  the  trumpet  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment to  scatter  the  Republican  battalions— as  the 
chaff  of  the  threshing-floors  is  scattered  by  the 
blast  of  the  mistral.  Then,  rising  from  his 
knees  and  again  crossing  himself,  he  kissed  his 
scapulary  and  his  medals  and  went  forth  from 
his  room. 

In  the  passage  outside  he  found  Calisto  im- 
patiently awaiting  him.  "  Oh,"  said  the  Canon, 
in  a  tone  of  surprise,  "are  you  up  already? 
Well,  well,  I  understand.  Your  brain  is  quite 
turned  by  the  thought  of  seeing  the  little  Com- 
tessine!" 

273 


274  ®lje  tOl)ite  Scrror 

"And  well  it  may  be,"  Calisto  answered. 
"This  is  an  eventful  day  for  me.  I  swore  to 
her  mother  that  I  would  take  the  Comtessine 
to  myself  and  that  I  would  guard  and  cherish 
her.  That  promise  begins  to  be  fulfilled  to- 
day." 

"Let  us  now  go  to  the  convent,"  said  the 
Canon.  "  And  thank  God  that  you  have  found 
her  at  last." 

As  they  left  the  house  they  covered  their 
mouths  with  their  hands  to  guard  against  breath- 
ing freely  the  tainted  air  that  rose  from  the  foul 
streets  and  mingled  with  the  still  low-lying 
morning  mist.  They  walked  rapidly,  and  in  a 
little  while  had  covered  the  short  distance  be- 
tween the  Rue  du  Limas  and  the  Rue  Annanelle 
and  were  come  to  the  Convent  of  St.  Ursula. 
The  Canon  knocked  at  the  garden  portal,  the 
little  gate  through  which  the  lay  Sisters  came 
and  went,  and  through  which  the  service  of  the 
convent  was  carried  on.  It  was  Sister  Margai, 
one  of  the  lay  Sisters,  who  opened  to  them — 
after  first  peeping  through  a  grating  to  make 
sure  that  she  was  opening  to  their  own  almoner 
come  to  say  the  morning  mass. 

Sister  Margai  stood  aside  as  they  entered,  and 
bowed  before  the  Canon's  hastily  bestowed 
blessing.  Calisto  followed  the  priest,  his  eyes 
downcast,  his  hands  slipped  into  his  sleeves 
and  folded  upon  his  breast  in  proper  ecclesiasti- 
cal style.  As  he  passed  Sister  Margai  he  bowed 
slightly,  and  his  lips  moved  as  though  in  prayer. 
Then  the  door  was  locked  and  bolted  behind 
them,  and  in  the  faint  light  of  early  morning 
they  walked  along  the  garden  path.  Behind 


®lic  Demi  Semes  tl)e  ittass         275 

them  came  Sister  Margai,  her  gown  rustling 
softly,  her  bunch  of  keys  jingling  a  little,  and 
her  olive-pit  rosary  making  a  faint  rattling  as  it 
swung  against  her  knees. 

As  they  walked  up  the  path  they  heard  the 
murmuring  of  voices  alternating  with  what 
sounded  like  a  sighing  groan;  and  this,  as  they 
drew  close  to  the  convent,  resolved  itself  in  the 
words  of  the  morning  prayer,  the  Litany  of  the 
Saints.  A  single  voice  uttered  the  invocation: 

"Santa  Maria,  Mater  Dei!" 
Then  all  the  nuns  answered  together: 

"  Ora  pro  nobis!  " 
And  then  the  single  voice: 

"  Santa  Maria  Magdalena!  " 
And  then  the  voices: 

"Ora  pro  nobis!" 

It  was  the  recurrent  "Ora  pro  nobis!  "  which 
had  the  sound  of  a  sighing  groan — a  deep-drawn 
cry  in  which  were  blended  the  hoarse  and  qua- 
vering voices  of  old  women  and  the  clear  sweet 
voices  of  young  girls.  A  thrill  went  through 
Calisto's  heart  as  he  listened.  It  sec-med  to  him 
that  among  those  girl  voices  he  could  distin- 
guish the  voice  of  Adeline!  But  his  thoughts 
just  then  were  not  wholly  sentimental.  From 
the  moment  that  he  had  entered  the  garden  he 
had  been  scanning  closely  the  convent  windows 
and  the  convent  walls.  The  sound  of  that  sweet 
voice  only  made  his  examination  the  keener.  If 
that  voice  could  not  be  his  by  the  fair  means  of 
asking,  he  was  resolved  to  make  it  his  by  the 
foul  means  of  force! 

With  these  thoughts  in  his  mind,  he  was 
disappointed  because  they  did  not  enter  the 


276  $l)c  tOI)itc  (Terror 


convent — as  he  had  counted  upon — but  passed 
along  at  the  side  of  it  and  entered  the  chapel  by 
an  outer  door.  There  Sister  Margai,  bowing  to 
another  benediction,  left  them,  and  they  went 
into  the  silent,  incense-scented  oratory  alone. 
Canon  Jusserand  dipped  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
into  the  font  beside  the  entrance  and  offered  the 
holy  water  to  Calisto — who  accepted  it,  on  the 
same  hand  that  a  few  hours  before  had  mur- 
dered Sergeant  Berigot,  and  crossed  himself  with 
a  becoming  grace. 

They  went  on  into  the  sacristy — half  kneel- 
ing as  they  passed  before  the  altar — and  there 
found  the  vestments  for  the  mass  duly  laid  out. 
While  the  priest  robed  himself,  to  a  muttered 
accompaniment  of  prayers,  Calisto  went  back- 
ward and  forward  between  the  sacristy  and  the 
sanctuary — making  a  show  of  arranging  the 
altar,  but  in  reality  peering  about  him  keenly 
with  his  snake-like  black  eyes.  The  darkness 
of  the  chapel  disconcerted  him.  The  only  light 
— very  faint,  the  sun  barely  being  risen — came 
through  a  single  high-up  window,  and  even 
this  light  was  dimmed  by  the  richly  coloured 
glass.  Unless  Adeline  sat  in  the  very  front  row 
of  chairs  he  would  not  see  her.  He  was  not 
sure  that  he  could  see  her  even  then.  He  was 
surprised,  also,  that  the  nuns  should  so  delay 
their  coming.  While  in  the  sacristy,  he  fancied 
that  he  heard  the  sound  of  soft  footsteps  and  a 
little  rattling  of  rosaries ;  but  when  he  hurried  to 
the  sanctuary,  as  though  to  set  the  missals  in 
order,  the  seats  still  were  bare. 

Much  more  to  his  astonishment,  the  seats 
were  bare  when  the  Canon — bearing  the  chalice 


2Tl)c  EDcml  Semes  tl)c  ilTasa          277 

and  the  paten — motioned  to  him  to  follow  and 
told  him  to  ring  the  bell.  "The  church  is 
empty,''  he  remonstrated.  But  as  the  Canon 
motioned  to  him  imperatively  to  do  as  he  was 
bid,  he  picked  up  the  bell  and  rang  it  as  they 
entered  the  sanctuary.  Instantly  there  came, 
seemingly  from  the  empty  nave,  a  bustle  of 
little  noises — chairs  slightly  moved,  suppressed 
coughs,  the  rattle  of  rosaries — and  then  a  soft 
murmur,  as  of  many  voices  in  whispered  prayer. 
Calisto  could  not  at  all  understand  whence  these 
sounds  came.  Nor  could  he  turn  his  head  to 
investigate  into  them — as  he  knelt,  facing  the 
altar,  in  the  rear  of  Canon  Jusserand,  and  made 
the  responses  while  that  worthy  priest  said  the 
Introit  and  the  Confiteor  and  went  on  with  the 
mass.  Even  when  he  was  free  to  rise  and  to 
look  about  him  the  puzzle  continued.  His  eyes, 
searching  the  deep  shadows  of  the  nave,  assured 
him  that  not  a  human  being  was  in  the  church 
beside  themselves. 

So  intent  was  he  upon  resolving  this  mys- 
tery that  he  forgot  his  duties.  Suddenly  he 
realized  that  the  priest  had  finished  the  reading 
of  the  Epistle  and  was  waiting  for  him  to  move 
the  Missal  before  the  reading  of  the  Gospel 
should  begin.  Hurriedly  he  performed  this 
office  —  carrying  the  Missal  across,  with  the 
due  genuflection,  to  the  Canon's  left.  At  the 
first  words  of  the  Gospel  there  was  the  sound 
of  movement  again:  and  then  he  discovered 
whence  the  sounds  came. 

In  the  side  of  the  church  was  a  large  grating 
over  which  was  drawn  a  black  curtain — a  cur- 
tain of  thin  fabric — through  which  he  could  dis- 


278  ®l)c  tDI)ite 


cern,  faintly  and  confusedly  against  dim  light 
coming  from  windows  in"  the  wall  beyond, 
the  standing  figures  of  the  nuns.  To  distin- 
guish individuals  was  impossible.  Old  and 
young,  all  were  alike  there — mere  vague  shades. 
He  perceived  that  even  were  the  curtain  drawn 
it  would  be  almost  impossible  for  him  to  recog- 
nise Adeline.  The  faint  light,  coming  from  be- 
hind, cast  the  faces  of  all  the  nuns  into  shadow. 
When  they  knelt,  their  heads  were  bowed  upon 
their  hands.  Still,  rigid,  they  seemed  less  like 
living  women  than  bowed  statues  in  marble 
carved  above  a  tomb. 

Again  he  forgot  his  duties.  When  the  mo- 
ment for  the  Offertory  came  the  priest  was  com- 
pelled to  recall  his  wandering  attention  by  a 
loud  "  Ahem!  "  and  to  signal  to  him  vigorously, 
at  the  Elevation,  that  he  must  ring  his  bell.  At 
the  tinkling  of  the  bell  the  Sisters  prostrated 
themselves,  and  remained  prostrate  until  that 
portion  of  the  rite  was  ended  and  the  Mother 
Superior  signalled  to  them  to  rise. 

The  light  behind  the  curtain  had  grown 
much  brighter  as  the  sun,  rising  above  the 
house  tops,  shone  full  upon  the  windows  be- 
yond. The  individual  figures  of  the  nuns  could 
be  distinguished  plainly,  and  Calisto  scanned 
them  with  a  very  eager  gaze.  But  he  only 
could  see  that  some  were  short  and  some  tall. 
Adeline  might  be  among  them,  or  she  might 
not.  He  could  not  in  the  least  be  sure.  He 
was  growing  rather  desperate  as  his -hope  of 
seeing  her  faded  away.  His  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  possibility  of  breaking  into  the  con- 
vent and  carrying  her  off  by  force.  He  was 


®l)e  Etetril  Seroes  tl)e  iUass          279 

glad  to  perceive,  in  the  stronger  light,  that  the 
grating  in  the  wall  of  the  chapel  was  not  of  iron 
but  of  wood.  That  tended  to  simplify  matters. 
Getting  into  the  chapel  would  be  easy.  Still 
easier  would  it  be  to  break  through  that  old 
wooden  grating.  And  then  the  way  into  the 
convent  would  be  clear! 

A  loud  "Ahem!"  from  Canon  Jusserand 
once  more  aroused  him.  The  Canon  was  mo- 
tioning to  him  to  take  the  candlestick  and  the 
napkin.  At  the  same  moment  there  was  a  soft 
rustling,  accompanied  by  a  sudden  increase  of 
light,  as  the  curtain  covering  the  grating  was 
drawn  aside;  and  then  the  sound  of  a  bolt  shot 
back  and  the  creaking  of  a  rusty  hinge.  A  little 
door  in  the  centre  of  the  grating  had  been 
opened  that  the  nuns  might  receive  the  Sacra- 
ment. Bearing  the  sacred  elements,  the  Canon 
went  from  the  altar  to  this  opening.  Calisto 
followed  him,  carrying  the  candle  and  the  nap- 
kin in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

A  SACRILEGIOUS  SACRAMENT 

THE  black-veiled  nuns  were  ranged  in  a  line, 
ready  to  advance  to  the  opening  in  the  grating. 
At  the  head  of  the  line  was  the  Mother  Superior, 
Sister  Dorothy;  then  came  the  Sisters  in  order 
of  age,  the  very  old  ones  pale  and  wrinkled  and 
with  wax-like  hands  as  thin  and  as  colourless 
as  the  hands  of  the  dead;  then  the  lay  Sisters; 
and  last  of  all  three  young  girls  wearing  worldly 
dresses  and  white  veils.  The  veils  of  all  were 
lifted  aside,  in  readiness  for  the  Sacrament. 
Through  the  jessamine-wreathed  windows, 
opening  on  the  garden,  a  flood  of  sunshine 
poured  into  the  room.  At  last  Calisto  beheld 
the  face  that  he  longed  so  eagerly  to  see:  one 
of  the  white-veiled  young  girls  was  Adeline! 

Standing  beside  the  priest,  Calisto  held  up 
the  napkin  of  the  holy  table  as  each  of  the  nuns 
received  the  Sacrament.  Unguided  by  his  eyes, 
fixed  upon  Adeline,  his  hand  moved  awk- 
wardly. His  body  swayed  a  little,  and  his 
breath  came  short.  One  by  one  the  women 
knelt  in  front  of  the  opening  in  the  grating, 
Adeline  last  of  all.  Instinctively,  as  she  took 
her  place,  he  shrank  away  a  little,  fearful  lest 
she  should  recognise  him.  But  her  eyes  were 
downcast:  she  saw  only  the  hand  of  the  priest 
280 


St  Sacrilegious  Sacrament  281 

extending  the  wafer  to  her  above  the  napkin. 
She  raised  her  head  slightly,  but  not  her  eyes, 
as  she  opened  her  rosy  lips  to  receive  the  angels' 
bread.  Calisto's  blood-stained  hand  almost  was 
touching  her  beautiful  white  throat.  A  shiver 
went  through  him,  and  his  hand  so  trembled — 
the  hand  which  firmly  had  thrust  a  knife  into 
his  master's  quivering  flesh — that  he  let  the 
napkin  fall.  He  stood  for  a  moment  stupefied — 
his  strong  fingers  close  to  that  delicate  throat, 
as  though  to  seize  it  in  a  death-giving  grasp. 
Having  received  the  Sacrament,  her  eyes  still 
downcast,  Adeline  passed  on.  Monsieur  Jus- 
serand  went  back  to  the  altar.  Calisto,  bearing 
the  candlestick,  followed  him  automatically. 
Behind  him  he  heard  the  creakfng  of  the  hinge 
and  the  rattle  of  the  bolt  as  the  door  in  the  grat- 
ing was  closed ;  then  the  soft  swish  of  the  cur- 
tain as  it  was  drawn  behind  the  bars.  When 
he  was  come  to  the  altar,  and  turned  to  look 
again,  all  beyond  the  grating  once  more  was 
vague  and  shadowy.  He  could  see  only  that 
the  nuns  were  prostrate — likeUhe  sheaves  in  a 
reaped  field. 

"  Ita  missa  est,"  intoned  the  priest,  turning 
toward  the  nave  with  outstretched  hands. 

"Deo  gracias,"  responded  the  murderer. 

And  so  the  mass  went  on  to  its  end.  When 
the  Canon  went  into  the  sacristy  to  disrobe, 
Calisto  remained  to  extinguish  the  candles  and 
to  set  in  order  the  altar.  He  did  this  very  slow- 
ly, his  eyes  fixed  on  the  dimly  seen  figures  of 
the  nuns.  As  the  little  procession  filed  away, 
passing  from  the  oratory  back  into  the  convent, 
his  heart  thrilled  as  he  clearly  distinguished — 


282  ®l)e  tOtjite 


against  one  of  the  brightly  sunlit  windows  —  the 
figure  of  Adeline.  She  was  walking  between 
the  two  other  young  girls,  and  her  more  deli- 
cately elegant  form  and  more  graceful  carriage 
made  her  seem  a  queen  attended  by  her  maids. 

Calisto,  blood-stained  criminal  though  he 
was,  felt  his  soul  stirred  and  softened  as  he 
gazed  at  this  pure  young  creature  whom  he  so 
deeply  loved.  He  longed  to  call  to  her,  to  tell 
her  that  he  gave  himself  to  her  utterly,  soul  and 
body,  to  do  with  as  she  pleased;  to  promise 
anything,  everything,  for  a  kindly  glance  from 
her  beautiful  eyes,  for  a  kindly  touch,  for  a  kind- 
ly word.  For  a  moment  the  love  for  her  that 
tore  his  heart  conquered  his  wild-beast  instincts 
and  made  him  tender  and  pitiful! 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment  that  this  mood 
lasted.  As  Adeline  disappeared  into  the  con- 
vent the  wild  beast  was  aroused  again.  In  the 
unreasoning  rage  of  a  wild  beast  whose  prey 
has  succeeded  in  escaping,  he  flung  himself 
against  the  grating  and  shook  it  violently  —  mad 
to  follow  her,  to  seize  her,  to  make  her  his  own  ! 
The  noise  that  he  made  recalled  him  to  his 
senses.  He  trembled  a  little  as  he  reflected  how 
much  his  imprudence  might  have  cost  him.  He 
was  farther  chilled  by  the  sound  of  talking  in  the 
sacristy,  and  by  the  thought  that  whoever  was 
in  there  with  Canon  Jusserand  might  have  seen 
his  crazy  act.  Meekly,  with  downcast  eyes,  he 
turned  to  the  altar  and  collected  the  sacred  ves- 
sels; and  then,  with  the  devout  air  of  one  who 
has  just  partaken  of  the  Sacrament,  carried  them 
into  the  sacristy. 

Canon  Jusserand  was  in  the  act  of  taking  off 


21  Sacrilegious  Sacrament  283 

his  stole,  which  he  kissed  as  he  laid  it  down. 
Sister  Margai  was  with  him.  She  had  brought 
a  pewter  tray  on  which  were  two  cups  of  milk 
and  two  buttered  rolls  for  the  breakfast  of  the 
priest  and  his  assistant.  There  were  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  she  was  trembling  like  a  reed. 
Her  agitation  filled  Calisto  with  alarm.  Perhaps 
she  had  seen  him  beating  at  the  bars!  But  in  a 
moment  he  was  reassured. 

"  They  have  taken  him  to  be  a  conscript?" 
the  Canon  asked. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,"  Sister  Margai  answered 
brokenly,  "to  be  a  conscript.  The  gendarmes 
came  and  took  away  our  good  Pierre.  Oh,  holy 
Mother  of  Heaven!  The  evil  days  are  coming 
back  again!  And  they  say,  Monsieur,  that  all 
the  young  men  over  sixteen  are  to  go.  Ai !  Ai ! 
Ai!  Who's  going  to  pasture  our  cows  ?"  And 
Sister  Margai  sobbed  aloud. 

"It  is  to  General  Bonaparte  that  we  owe 
this, "  said  the  Canon.  ' '  Why  could  he  not  have 
staid  in  Egypt  and  died  there  of  the  plague!" 
He  sighed  deeply,  and  crossed  himself  with  the 
hand  in  which  he  held  his  buttered  roll. 

As  Calisto  realized  that  he  himself  was  in 
peril  if  a  general  conscription  had  been  ordered, 
a  fear  of  a  more  practical  sort  possessed  him. 
"  Are  you  sure  that  your  Pierre  was  taken  as  a 
conscript  ?"  he  asked.  "  May  he  not  have  been 
a  deserter  ?  " 

"No,  no.  He  was  not  a  deserter.  He  never 
was  in  the  army  at  all.  Oh,  he  was  such  a  nice 
boy.  He  was  no  more  in  the  way  than  if  he 
had  been  a  girl!  " 

"  Some  one  must  have  denounced  him,  then. 
19 


284  ®l)e  iX)l)ite  terror 

There  are  plenty  of  those  Republican  brigands 
who  would  be  glad  to  get  a  convent  servant  into 
trouble." 

"No,  Monsieur,  I  don't  think  that  anybody 
denounced  him.  You  see,  the  gendarmes  are 
searching  one  house  after  the  other,  and  wher- 
ever they  find  a  man — or  a  poor  boy  like  our 
Pierre — who  can  serve  in  the  army  they  just 
snatch  him  away.  It  was  dreadful  when  they 
came,  the  gendarmes!  The  street  was  full  of 
them,  with  their  bayonets  and  their  guns!  Oh 
our  poor  Pierre!  Oh  our  poor  cows!  What 
will  become  of  them  now  ! "  Sister  Margai 
broke  forth  into  sobs  again,  and  with  upraised 
arms  left  the  sacristy  by  the  little  door  through 
which  she  had  come. 

Canon  Jusserand  and  Calisto  looked  at  each 
other  anxiously,  but  they  were  silent  until  the 
sound  of  the  nun's  retreating  footsteps  had  died 
away.  Then  the  Canon,  as  he  dipped  his  roll 
into  his  cup,  said  thoughtfully:  "This  may 
make  trouble.  It  will  be  safer  for  you  to  re- 
main here  while  I  find  out  what  the  gendarmes 
are  doing." 

"  But  what  will  the  Sisters  say  to  my  stay- 
ing here  ?  " 

"I  will  arrange  that.  They  will  make  no 
objections.  Now  listen.  If  I  find  that  you  may 
return  to  the  house  without  danger,  I  will  send 
for  you.  But  if  it  is  not  safe  for  you  to  return, 
you  must  spend  the  day  here,  and  in  the  even- 
ing I  will  have  a  carriage  at  the  garden  door  to 
convey  you  to  the  Chateau  de  la  Vernede. 
There  you  may  be  safely  hidden — if  necessary, 
under  another  name." 


Sacrilegious  Sacrament  285 


"I  want  no  better  name  than  the  one  to 
which  I  have  a  legal  right.  The  title  deeds 
which  I  received  from  my  poor  good  master 
before  he  died  give  me  the  right  to  the  name  of 
the  Comte  de  la  Vernede." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true  enough.  The  title  goes 
with  the  estate.  But  we  need  not  bother  about 
names  and  titles  just  now.  The  important  mat- 
ter is  to  make  sure  that  you  are  not  snapped  up 
as  a  conscript,  to  serve  in  this  outlaw  army  of 
the  Republic  against  our  good  Austrian  and  Ger- 
man allies  who  are  fighting  for  our  good  King. 
That  is  why  it  may  be  best  for  you  to  be  off 
into  hiding  at  the  Chateau." 

Calisto  did  not  answer  in  words,  but  he 
shook  his  head  doubtingly. 

"  Well,  doesn't  my  plan  suit  you  ?" 

"In  one  way  it  suits  me  very  well  indeed, 
but  in  another  way  it  doesn't  suit  me  at  all.  If 
I  go  off  and  hide  myself  at  the  Chateau,  what 
becomes  of  my  marriage  with  the  Comtessine  ? 
Suppose  that  some  one  else  wants  to  marry  her  ? 
Suppose  she  leaves  the  convent  ?  " 

"  Don't  worry  about  that.  You  forget  that 
I  shall  be  here,  and  that  nothing  can  be  done 
without  consulting  me.  I  am  the  director  and 
the  confessor  of  the  Comtessine.  I  shall  know 
all  that  is  going  on." 

"And  then  those  Vauclairs!  They  may 
come  back  and  take  her  to  live  with  them  again. 
If  she  gets  into  the  hands  of  those  brigands 
there  isn't  much  hope  for  me!  And  oh,  to  leave 
her  at  all,  to  go  away  from  her  now  that  at  last 
I  have  found  her,  is  bitter  hard!  " 

"What   difference   does  your  going  away 


286  ®i)e  toljile   terror 

make  when  I  tell  you  that  I  hold  her  in  my  hand 
like  a  nestling  ?  1  am  here  to  watch  over  hen 
to  tell  her  that  she  is  in  danger  of  damnation  if 
she  does  not  obey  her  mother's  command  to 
marry  you." 

""I  would  rather  see  her  dead  than  married 
to  another — perhaps  to  some  brigand  Republi- 
can !  " 

"  She  shall  belong  to  you  or  to  no  one,  never 
fear.  But  hush!  Here  comes  Sister  Margai 
again.  I  hear  her  sobbing  for  her  lost  cow-herd 
and  her  unhappy  cows."  As  he  spoke,  Sister 
Margai  re-entered  the  sacristy,  with  upraised 
arms  and  in  tears.  "Well,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing the  sorrowing  Sister,  "what  is  it  now  ? 
Have  the  gendarmes  come  back  again  ?" 

"No,  no.  They're  gone,  and  our  Pierre  is 
gone  with  them.  They've  gone  to  search  every 
house  in  Avignon.  We  are  left  desolate — we 
and  the  cows!" 

"Never  mind  about  the  cows  now,  Sister. 
Listen,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  am 
going  out  alone.  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Ver- 
nede,  my  relative — who  was  good  enough  to 
come  with  me  to  serve  the  mass — will  remain 
here  for  a  time,  possibly  for  the  whole  day. 
You  easily  will  understand  that  he  does  not  wish 
to  be  taken  off  by  the  gendarmes  to  fight  for  this 
carrion  Republic  against  our  good  German  and 
Austrian  allies.  Therefore  he  will  stay  here 
until  it  shall  be  safe  for  me  to  send  for  him.  I 
leave  him  in  your  hands.  Should  he  tire  of  the 
sacristy,  you  will  permit  him  to  walk  in  the 
garden.  Tell  the  reverend  Mother  Superior  that 
1  have  authorized  this." 


&  Sacrilegious  Sacrament  287 

"What  you  have  ordered,  Father,  shall  be 
done,"  Sister  Margai  answered,  bending  her 
head  that  the  priest  might  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross  over  it  and  crossing  herself  when  this 
blessing  had  been  conferred.  And  then  turning 
to  Calisto,  as  the  Canon  left  them,  she  added : 
"  Monsieur  le  Comte.  I  am  at  your  commands." 

"Tell  me,"  Calisto  asked,  "was  I  mistaken 
in  believing  that  Mademoiselle  la  Comtessine 
d'Ambrun  was  with  you  just  now  at  the  holy 
mass?" 

"No,  Monsieur,  you  were  not  mistaken. 
She  was  with  us." 

"  How  strange!  Never  did  I  expect  to  see 
her  a  nun." 

"But  she  is  not  a  nun,  Monsieur;  and  she 
never  will  be  one,  I  assure  you." 

"You  astonish  me.  If  she  is  not  a  nun, 
and  is  not  to  be  one,  why  was  she  wearing  a 
white  veil  ?  " 

"  It  was  her  veil  for  the  Holy  Communion, 
Monsieur." 

"Surely,  though,  she  is  here  in  the  convent 
with  the  Sisters.  She  is  one  of  you." 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  you  are  mistaken. 
The  Comtessine  is  with  us  only  at  the  time  of 
our  services.  She  lives  in  a  house  in  the  garden 
that  is  not  cloistered  like  the  convent." 

"Ah,  for  the  moment,  no  doubt.  But  she 
is  not  likely  to  dwell  apart  from  you  long.  She 
has  no  one  left  to  her  on  earth,  poor  child! 
Presently  she  will  join  your  holy  Sisterhood  and 
be  at  peace." 

"Oh,  don't  you  believe  that,  Monsieur  le 
Comte.  The  Comtessine  is  not  alone  in  the 


288  ®lje  toljitc  terror 

world.  She  has "  and  then,  suddenly  realiz- 
ing that  she  was  talking  something  very  like 
gossip,  Sister  Margai  stopped  short.  In  confu- 
sion, she  hurriedly  picked  up  the  breakfast  tray 
and  turned  to  go. 

Calisto  detained  her.  "Has  she  then  any 
relatives  left  alive  ?  "  he  asked.  "  1  thought  that 
in  the  dreadful  days  of  the  Terror  all  were  lost." 

After  all,  Sister  Margai  was  a  woman.  What 
she  had  to  tell  was  too  delightful  not  to  be  told. 
She  hurried  away  with  the  tray,  but  paused  for 
an  instant  on  the  threshold  as  she  threw  these 
words  behind  her  before  she  clapped  to  the 
door:  "Mademoiselle  la  Comtessine  is  be- 
trothed!" 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

WITHIN   CONSECRATED   WALLS 

SISTER  MARGAI'S  announcement  left  Calisto 
thunderstruck.  Adeline  betrothed!  It  seemed 
impossible !  To  whom  could  her  troth  be  given  ? 
He  was  in  a  ferment.  The  heavy  scent  of  in- 
cense in  the  chapel  seemed  to  stifle  him.  He 
went  hastily  to  the  door  opening  upon  the  gar- 
den that  he  might  breathe  the  fresh  outer  air. 

Save  for  the  sparrows  flying  about  in  search 
of  their  breakfasts,  the  sunny  garden  was  de- 
serted. Glancing  about  him  shrewdly,  he 
walked  out  among  the  roses.  The  restful  quiet 
of  that  sweet  place  soothed  him  and  he  grew 
calmer.  Presently,  down  at  the  far  end  of  the 
convent,  he  caught  sight  of  two  unbarred  win- 
dows which  overlooked  an  adjoining  garden, 
separated  from  the  one  in  which  he  was  by  a 
high  wall.  "The  home  of  the  Comtessine  is 
behind  those  unbarred  windows,"  he  said  to 
himself — and  walked  softly,  keeping  close 
beside  the  convent,  until  he  was  come  to  the 
dividing  wall. 

Just  then  a  door  was  opened  with  a  bang 
that  sent  the  frightened  sparrows  flying  up  to 
the  roofs,  and  that  fora  moment  alarmed  Calisto 
also.  In  an  instant  he  was  at  ease  again,  as 
there  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  wall  the 

289 


290  ®I)£  tX)l)ile  ®error 

sound  of  girlish  laughter  and  gay  cries  and  hand- 
clappings  and  running  steps — and  he  was  almost 
sure  that  among  the  voices  he  recognised  that 
of  the  Comtessine.  Then  there  was  a  pattering 
sound,  as  of  dancing  feet,  and  the  girls'  voices 
sang  together  a  gay  round  beginning : 

Old  Nick  is  ailing, 

He's  complaining  to-night. 

It  was  the  round  that  Adeline  and  old  Joy 
and  little  Clairet  had  sung  so  often  in  the  garden 
of  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  Bretagne;  and  as 
Calisto  heard  the  familiar  words  he  was  abso- 
lutely certain  that  she  whom  he  was  hunting 
with  a  wild  beast's  ardour  and  eagerness  was 
within  a  few  feet  of  him,  on  the  other  side  of 
that  wall.  Her  nearness,  and  her  inaccessibility, 
made  so  maddening  a  combination  that  he  bit 
his  thin  lips  and  dug  his  nails  into  the  palms  of 
his  hands.  For  a  long  while  he  stood  there, 
listening,  in  a  dull  rage.  At  last  a  bell  rang. 
Then  the  gay  sounds  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wall  stopped  abruptly,  there  was  a  little  bustle 
of  retreating  steps,  the  door  slammed  again — 
and  then  all  was  still. 

Slowly  he  returned  to  the  sacristy  of  the 
chapel  and  there  seated  himself — his  face  in  his 
hands,  his  elbows  on  his  knees — to  chew  the 
cud  of  those  bitter  words:  "The  Comtessine  is 
betrothed !  "  He  was  torn  and  pierced  by  a  sharp 
pain  that  he  could  not  explain  to  himself;  that 
his  cruel  and  unnatural  heart  did  not  recognise 
as  the  stinging  pain  of  love.  This  bastard,  who 
was  acknowledged  by  no  parent,  who  possessed 
no  friend,  felt  his  eyes  filling  with  tears.  He 


tDitljin  (Consecrateb  tDails  291 

knew  not  why  he  wept.  He  was  ashamed  of 
his  weakness.'  "Can  it  be  I,  the  Comte  de  la 
Vernede,"  he  cried  aloud,  "who  is  crying  like 
a  baby  because  the  Comtessine  is  betrothed  to 
some  one  ?  What  do  I  care  for  that,  and  what 
difference  does  it  make  ?  Now  that  I  have  found 
her,  she  is  mine.  I  have  her  here,  locked  up  in 
a  convent,  as  safe  as  though  she  were  locked  up 
in  a  prison.  She  cannot  escape  from  me.  I 
have  her  fast.  Betrothed  ?  Yes,  she  is  betrothed, 
but  to  me — or  to  Death !  " 

He  stood  erect  as  he  spoke  these  words,  his 
eyes,  still  wet  with  tears,  flashing  with  anger — 
and  almost  fell  backward  as  he  saw  standing 
directly  in  front  of  him,  pale  and  motionless  as 
a  statue,  the  Superior  of  the  convent,  Mother 
Dorothy!  He  knew  that  she  must  have  heard 
every  syllable  that  his  lips,  giving  voice  to  the 
thoughts  of  his  black  heart,'  had  uttered.  For 
an  instant  he  was  in  utter  confusion.  Then  he 
rallied — and  before  Mother  Dorothy  had  time  to 
speak  he  had  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before 
the  great  crucifix. 

"Oh  holy  Christ,"  he  cried,  "have  pity  on 
me !  I  am  a  sinful  man  made  mad  by  rage.  The 
fire  of  love  that  burns  in  my  veins  is  fire  from 
hell.  Have  pity  on  me,  my  Saint  Christ!  I 
sin  because  I  look  with  longing  eyes  upon  that 
innocent  girl,  that  virgin  of  delight,  who  seeks 
no  spouse  but  Thee;  who  desires  no  wedding 
garb  but  the  habit  of  sweet  Saint  Ursula.  For- 
give my  sin,  oh  my  Saint  Christ,  and  take  her 
to  Thyself — while  I,  unworthy  of  her,  shall  hide 
away  in  pain  in  the  forests  of  La  Vernede,  as  a 
wounded  wolf  hides  himself  in  his  lair!" 


292  ®l)e  tiObite  terror 

Calisto  arose  from  before  the  crucifix  and 
knelt  to  the  Mother  Superior,  saying  pleadingly : 
"  Forgive  me,  holy  and  reverend  Mother!  The 
Comte  de  la  Vernede  is  at  your  feet — so  shamed 
that  he  dares  not  raise  his  eyes  to  yours  because 
in  this  house  of  virtue  he  has  suffered  to  escape 
from  him  the  cry  of  his  wretched  flesh !  Forgive 
me,  holy  Mother.  My  cry  of  the  flesh  was 
wrung  from  me  because  I  am  suffering  the  tor- 
tures of  the  damned.  Forgive  me!  " 

Mother  Dorothy's  feeling  of  alarm  and  horror 
was  changed  to  a  profound  pity  by  this  appeal. 
"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  she  said  soothingly, 
"  my  heart  bleeds  for  you  in  your  sorrow.  But 
do  not  sorrow  despairingly.  God  is  good.  He 
is  not  jealous  of  His  creatures.  The  Comtessine 
is  bound  as  yet  by  no  vows.  Perhaps  God  has 
sent  you  to  our  convent  to  withdraw  her  from 
the  devil's  claws — for  her  heart  also  5  hurt  and 
torn." 

Calisto's  fears  were  allayed  by  Mother  Dor- 
othy's display  of  so  kindly  a  sympathy.  He 
listened  eagerly  as  she  continued:  "  Sometimes 
we  speak  to  the  Comtessine  about  becoming  a 
nun.  We  urge  upon  her  that  her  relatives  all 
are  dead  and  that  she  is  alone  in  the  world,  that 
the  title  deeds  to  her  estate  have  vanished  and 
that  she  has  no  home." 

"And  what  does  she  answer?" 

"That  she  is  betrothed." 

"To  whom  ?" 

"That  she  does  not  say.  But  we  know. 
It  is  to  a  peasant  boy  from  her  own  estate.  A  lad 
who  was  with  her  in  Paris  in  the  awful  days  of 
the  Revolution." 


(Eonsccraleb  tOaiis  293 


"  Ah,  the  poor  Comtessine!  "  sighed  Calisto. 
"It  is  evident  that  she  knows  nothing  of  her 
dead  mother's  acts  and  commands.  Before  that 
holy  woman  was  led  away  to  the  scaffold  she 
confided  the  title  deeds  to  Ambrun  to  my  keep- 
ing; and  to  me  she  confided  also  her  written 
command  that  the  Comtessine,  her  daughter, 
should  be  my  wife.  It  is  impossible  that  she 
should  be  betrothed  to  any  other  than  me.  Be- 
fore God,  and  by  the  will  of  her  dead  mother,  I 
am  her  affianced  husband!  " 

"Monsieur  le  Comte!"  exclaimed  Mother 
Dorothy  in  amazement.  "It  is  God  himself 
who  sends  you  here!  Your  coming  brings 
peace  and  happiness  to  our  little  Comtes- 
sine." 

"  Yes,  reverend  Mother;  and  peace  and  hap- 
piness will  come  to  me  also.  When  you  found 
me,  just  now,  in  the  rage  of  despair  it  was  be- 
cause I  had  heard  from  the  Sister  porteress  what 
you  have  told  me:  that  the  Comtessine  was  be- 
trothed. I  feared  that  I  had  lost  her,  and  I  be- 
came as  one  mad.  But  now  that  I  know  to 
whom  she  is  betrothed  —  a  Republican  brigand 
—  and  am  sure  of  your  help  in  saving  her  from 
such  a  misalliance,  my  fear  is  gone.  The  Com- 
tessine — 

A  rumble  of  wheels  in  the  street,  that 
stopped  at  the  garden  door  of  the  convent,  cut 
short  his  words.  In  that  quiet  quarter  the  sound 
was  a  most  unusual  one.  Calisto  and  Mother 
Dorothy  listened  anxiously;  and  still  more  anx- 
iously when  there  came  a  loud  knocking  at  the 
door.  By  a  common  impulse  they  left  the  sac- 
risty and  went  quickly  to  the  door  of  the  chapel 


294  ®i)e  tDhite  terror 

— and  then  their  anxiety  was  relieved  by  hear- 
ing the  voice  of  Canon  Jusserand.  A  moment 
later  the  Canon  joined  them.  "The  carriage  is 
here,"  he  said  to  Calisto,  "and  you  must  get 
away  at  once — either  to  the  Chateau  de  la  Garde 
or  to  La  Vernede." 

"In  broad  daylight?"  Calisto  questioned. 
"Surely,  with  Avignon  alive  with  gendarmes, 
that  will  be  to  fling  myself  into  the  wolfs 
jaws!" 

"No,  this  is  the  very  moment  to  escape. 
The  gates  are  open,  and  are  not  kept.  To-night 
they  will  be  shut  and  guarded.  Decide  at  once 
where  you  will  go — to  La  Garde  or  to  La  Ver- 
nede." 

"  Unless  I  can  take  the  Comtessine  with  me 
I  will  not  go  to  either!  " 

"What  folly!  Where  can  the  Comtessine 
be  better  off  than  in  this  cloistered  convent  ? 
Where  can  she  wait  more  safely  for  the  day 
when  I  shall  join  you  together  in  the  sight  of 
God  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  that  I  shall  find  her  here 
when  the  evil  days  are  past  ?  She  may  be  spir- 
ited away  by  that  brigand  of  a  Republican  to 
whom  she  says  she  is  betrothed." 

"God  preserve  us  from  that!"  exclaimed 
Mother  Dorothy.  "  What,  a  miserable  peasant 
steal  away  our  Comtessine!  No  such  sacrilege 
as  that  will  be  permitted  here,  Monsieur  le 
Comte,  that  I  promise  you!  " 

"Better  should  she  die  than  disobey  the 
command  of  her  sainted  mother,"  added  Canon 
Jusserand. 

"But  if  I  go  into  hiding,"  persisted  Calisto, 


(Consecrated  tOuiia          295 


"  when  can  we  be  married  ?  Think  how  long 
I  may  have  to  wait!" 

"How  long  does  a  storm  last?  A  day," 
said  the  Canon.  "  How  long  does  a  plague 
last  ?  A  month.  At  the  worst,  that  Bonaparte 
will  not  last  a  year.  He  has  re-opened  the 
churches,  but  his  fight  is  not  made  for  our  good 
King.  He  fights  for  this  carrion  of  a  Republic," 
and  the  Canon  spat  upon  the  ground. 

Calisto  made  no  answer,  but  he  shook  his 
head  as  much  as  to  say:  "  Who  claims,  claims. 
Who  holds,  has!" 

"  And,  no  matter  what  this  Bonaparte  does 
or  does  not  do,"  continued  the  Canon,  "I  will 
see  to  it  that  you  shall  have  what  you  want. 
One  of  these  days,  or  one  of  these  nights,  I  will 
carry  the  Comtessine  up  to  the  Chateau  de  la 
Garde  —  where  the  gendarmes  are  not  likely  to 
look  for  you,  or  for  her  either  —  and  there  1  will 
bless  your  marriage,  and  so  fulfil  the  wish  of 
the  sainted  Marquise  d'Ambrun." 

"Oh  happy  Comtessine,"  exclaimed  Sister 
Dorothy.  "Thus  shall  she  be  snatched  from 
the  claws  of  that  brigand  who  even  now  may  be 
fighting  with  Bonaparte  against  our  good  King! 
And  until  that  bright  day  comes.  I  shall  guard 
her  well!  " 

Calisto  looked  at  Sister  Dorothy  with  a  look 
so  piercing  and  a  smile  so  evil  that  she  shud- 
dered in  the  very  marrow  of  her  bones.  She 
seemed  to  hear  him  say:  "  You  have  promised 
to  guard  her.  Woe  be  to  you  if  your  promise 
is  not  kept!  " 

Monsieur  Jusserand  was  in  boiling  oil,  so 
anxious  was  he  to  get  Calisto  away  before  he 


296  ®l)c  tobite  terror 

should  be  snapped  up  for  a  conscript  by  the 
gendarmes.  Seizing  him  by  the  arm,  he  half 
led  half  dragged  him  down  the  garden  to  the 
gate,  and  there  fairly  thrust  him  into  the  waiting 
carriage  and  closed  the  door  with  a  bang. 
"  Drive  Monsieur  le  Comte  to  Malemort,  to  the 
Chateau  de  la  Garde,"  he  said  to  the  coachman. 
"Take  the  road  through  Pernes,  not  through 
Carpentras.  It  is  shorter  and  safer."  And  then, 
as  the  carriage  drove  away,  he  re-entered  the 
convent  garden  and  returned  to  Mother  Dorothy 
in  the  sacristy  of  the  chapel.  As  he  walked  up 
the  garden  path  he  drew  out  his  snuff-box  and 
took  a  big  pinch  of  snuff  slowly  and  comfort- 
ably. He  entered  the  sacristy  smiling  a  satisfied 
smile. 

Mother  Dorothy  still  was  trembling  with  ex- 
citement over  all  these  strange  happenings,  but 
she  grew  calmer  as  Monsieur  Jusserand  came 
smiling  back  to  her — and  then  was  startled  in 
a  different  way.  In  his  eyes  was  a  roguish 
glint  such  as  she  had  seen  there  first  years  and 
years  before,  when  they  both  were  young — he 
a  young  abbe  and  she  a  young  nun.  Curious 
memories  thrilled  her.  As  he  continued  to 
smile  at  her,  still  with  the  roguish  glint  in  his 
eyes,  she  also  smiled — but  blushed  a  little  and 
cast  her  own  eyes  down. 

"Well,"  said  the  Canon,  "what  do  you 
think  of  him  ?" 

"  Of  whom  ?" 

"Of  that  young  man." 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  very  worthy  and  pious 
young  man.  A  little  too  quick-tempered,  per- 
haps." 


tOitl)itt  Olonsccratcb  toalls  297 

"Didn't  your  heart  say  anything  to  you 
when  you  saw  him  ?" 

"I  do  not  understand.  Why  should  my 
heart  say  anything  to  me  ?  " 

Smiling  still  more  roguishly,  Canon  Jusse- 
rand  drew  close  to  her  and  gave  her  a  little  dig 
with  his  elbow  as  he  asked:  "Didn't  you  no- 
tice his  resemblance  to  somebody  whom  you 
know  ?" 

Mother  Dorothy  drew  away  a  little.  "  What 
mystery  is  this,  Monsieur  J  usserand  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Come,  come.  If  you  looked  at  him  at  all 
you  must  have  seen  that  he  is  the  very  image  of 
me,  as  1  was  twenty-three  years  ago." 

"1  do  not  in  the  least  know  what  you  are 
talking  about,  Monsieur,"  Mother  Dorothy  an- 
swered. Her  voice  shook  a  little.  Her  hands 
were  clasped  together  tightly.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  floor. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you.  Twenty-three  years 
ago,  when  that  young  man  was  a  little  child,  he 
was  abandoned— may  God  forgive  us  tor  it! — 
at  Les  Sablees,  in  Aramon.  By  a  miracle,  that 
must  have  been  worked  by  our  patron  Saint 
Ursula,  he  was  found  by  the  Comte  de  la  Ver- 
nede — who  took  him  to  his  Chateau,  who 
adopted  him,  who  bequeathed  to  him  his  estate 
that  carries  with  it  a  noble  title.  That  is  much 
for  an  outcast  and  a  foundling.  But  now  he 
wants  more,  and  it  is  only  just  that  we  should 
aid  him  to  accomplish  this  marriage  which  will 
give  him  happiness  and  which  will  make  his 
position  in  life  secure." 

In  Mother  Dorothy's  breast  were  strangely 
blended  feelings,  but  the  dominant  feeling  was 


298  ®l)c  tOi)itc  terror 

happiness.  At  last  her  mother-instinct,  that  for 
years  had  filled  her  heart  with  longing,  had 
been  gratified:  she  had  seen  her  child!  For  a 
moment  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  Then 
she  knelt  before  the  altar — to  thank  God  for  the 
joy  that  He  had  given  her,  and  for  the  thousandth 
time  to  ask  forgiveness  for  her  sin. 

Canon  Jusserand  softly  left  her.  He  was 
satisfied  that  he  could  count  upon  her  helping 
to  bring  about  the  marriage  of  Calisto  and  the 
Comtessine. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A   MIDNIGHT   CONFERENCE 

IT  was  well  for  Calisto  that  Canon  Jusserand 
had  hurried  him  away  to  the  Chateau  de  la 
Garde.  When  that  worthy  priest  returned  to 
his  home  in  the  Rue  du  Limas  he  found  the 
gendarmes  in  the  act  of  searching  it.  What 
was  more,  they  were  led  by  Sergeant  Vauclair 
— who  had  returned  the  day  before  from  the 
army  and  who  had  brought  them  to  where  he 
believed  that  Calisto  would  be  found.  But  be- 
yond turning  the  house  pretty  well  upside  down, 
the  search  produced  no  result. 

Disconcerted  by  having  led  the  gendarmes 
on  a  wild-goose  chase,  Vauclair  betook  himself 
to  his  little  house  in  the  Place  du  Grand  Paradis 
and  began  to  put  in  working  order  his  saws  and 
planes.  He  was  taking  up  his  trade  again;  and 
Lazuli — come  back  with  Clairet  from  Malaucene 
— was  setting  in  order  once  more  their  disman- 
tled home.  Old  Joy  no  longer  was  with  them. 
The  good  old  woman  had  died  in  Malaucene, 
peacefully  and  happily,  and  they  had  left  her  at 
rest  in  the  little  graveyard  on  the  north  slope  of 
Mont  Ventour.  The  people  living  round  about 
the  Place  du  Grand  Paradis  received  them  kind- 
ly— having  added,  as  time  passed  on,  a  good 
deal  of  water  to  their  wine. 

20  299 


300  ®t)e  tOljite  terror 

Indeed,  the  Red  Terror  and  the  White  Terror 
being  ended,  both  Reds  and  Whites  had  quieted 
down  amazingly.  They  were  surprised,  and 
they  were  still  more  ple'ased,  by  finding  them- 
selves in  peace  and  quiet  once  more.  And,  also, 
the  fact  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  victories 
which  General  Bonaparte  was  winning — victo- 
ries so  brilliant  that  men  of  all  parties  were  daz- 
zled by  them — were  making  for  good  citizenship 
by  creating  some  sort  of  solidarity  in  France. 
Out  of  these  large  causes  came  to  the  Vauclairs 
the  result  that  they  could  live  again  peacefully 
among  their  neighbours.  Vauclair  had  plenty 
of  work  to  do,  and  for  him  and  for  Lazuli  and 
for  Clairet — growing  to  be  a  fine  big  boy — time 
slipped  away  very  happily  in  their  comfortable 
little  home. 

Meanwhile,  up  in  the  Chateau  de  la  Garde, 
time  did  not  slip  away  happily  for  Calisto.  On 
the  contrary,  he  grew  desperately  tired  of  a  life 
in  which  the  only  excitement  was  his  dread  of 
the  coming  of  the  gendarmes.  As  the  weeks 
lengthened  out  into  months  he  became  more 
and  more  restless,  and  his  head  was  full  of 
wilder  and  wilder  plans  for  gaining  his  ends. 
The  simplest  and  the  most  practicable  of  these 
was  to  get  his  band  of  ruffians  together  some 
dark  night,  scale  the  wall  of  the  convent,  and 
carry  Adeline  off  by  force.  That  would  be  both 
direct  and  effective.  But  he  knew  that  it  would 
be  less  effective,  in  the  long  run,  than  any  plan 
that  would  make  Adeline  come  to  him  willingly. 
Even  at  the  cost  of  longer  waiting,  it  was  better 
that  she  should  yield  gradually  to  the  pressure 
that  Canon  Jusserand  and  Mother  Dorothy  were 


31  Ulibnigljt  (Conference  301 

exercising  upon  her — and  the  thought  occurred 
to  him  that  this  pressure  might  be  greatly  in- 
creased by  adding  to  it  the  command  of  the 
Lord  Bishop  of  Avignon.  It  would  not  be  diffi- 
cult, he  decided,  to  enlist  the  services  of  that 
dignitary  by  a  handsome  gift  toward  the  resto- 
ration of  his  dismantled  cathedral;  and  a  word 
from  the  Lord  Bishop  surely  would  compel  Ade- 
line to  obey  her  mother's  written  command. 

And  so — while  he  meditated  plans  which 
sometimes  were  foul,  and  which  sometimes  in 
a  way  were  fair — the  time  dragged  on.  The 
summer  passed,  the  autumn  passed,  winter  was 
well  advanced.  Still  nothing  happened,  still  he 
was  virtually  a  prisoner  in  the  lonely  Chateau. 
At  last  he  could  stand  inaction  no  longer.  At 
any  risk  he  decided  to  make  a  move.  He  would 
steal  into  Avignon  by  night  and  see  for  himself 
what  could  be  done'there.  If  nothing  could  be 
done,  he  was  ready  to  fire  the  convent  and  burn 
Adeline  to  death,  and  all  the  nuns  along  with 
her,  rather  than  that  his  maddening  waiting 
should  go  on  and  on! 

Therefore  there  came  a  knock,  one  wintry 
midnight  when  the  mistral  was  blowing  fiercely, 
at  Canon  Jusserand's  door.  The  Canon,  snug 
in  his  warm  bed,  paid  no  attention  to  it.  Some 
dying  person  wanted  absolution,  he  thought. 
Well,  they  must  get  a  younger  priest  to  give  it. 
He  would  not  risk  his  old  body  out  of  doors  on 
a  night  like  that  merely  because  some  silk- 
weaver  had  the  bad  taste  to  choose  weather  of 
that  sort  in  which  to  die.  And  he  settled  his 
night-cap  more  comfortably  and  drew  the  warm 
covers  well  about  his  ears. 


302  ®l)e      fyite  terror 

But  his  old  servant  looked  at  the  matter  dif- 
ferently. It  would  be  mortal  sin,  she  believed, 
if  she  failed  in  any  way  to  help  a  dying  man  to 
receive  absolution ;  and  she  slipped  on  a  petti- 
coat and  a  shawl  and  went  to  her  window, 
which  overlooked  the  street  door.  The  mistral 
had  set  to  dancing  every  star  in  heaven,  and  by 
the  starlight  she  saw  a  man  muffled  in  a  cloak 
raising  his  hand  once  more  to  the  knocker.  "  If 
I  did  not  know  that  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  at  his 
Chateau,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  would  say  that 
it  was  he  for  sure."  And  then  she  called  down: 
"Who's  there?" 

"It  is  I,"  Calisto  answered.  He  did  not 
dare  to  speak  his  name.  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing hard  enough  to  carry  words,  like  dead  leaves, 
all  over  Avignon. 

The  old  woman  recognised  his  voice  and 
hurried  down  to  let  him  in — calling  out,  as  she 
passed  the  Canon's  door,  "It's  Monsieur  le 
Comte  de  la  Vernede." 

"Impossible!"  the  Canon  answered  from 
the  depths  of  the  bed-clothes.  But  added,  as 
he  roused  himself:  "If  it  is  he,  he's  gone  stark 
staring  mad! " 

The  servant  went  on  down  the  stairs  and 
opened  the  door.  Calisto,  half  frozen,  entered 
— and  along  with  him  a  blast  of  bitter  cold  wind 
that  blew  out  the  light.  "  Ugh !  "  he  said.  "  It 
is  a  night  for  wolves!  "  And  groping  his  way 
past  the  servant  he  went  up  the  stair. 

By  the  time  that  he  had  reached  the  upper 
landing  the  Canon  had  come  out  to  meet  him — 
muffled  in  a  wrapper,  his  feet  in  slippers,  a  lamp 
in  his  hand.  "Unlucky  boy! "  exclaimed  the 


&  itttfmigtjt  Conference  3°3 

Canon.  "What  brings  you  here?  Do  you 
want  to  be  seized  by  the  gendarmes  ?  " 

"I'm  sick  of  the  life  that  I'm  leading,  that's 
why  I'm  here.  Haven't  you  a  fire  anywhere? 
I'm" half  dead  with  cold."' 

"This  is  madness!  Sheer  madness,"  the 
Canon  answered.  But  he  led  Calisto  into  his 
sitting-room,  and  started  a  blaze  by  throwing  a 
fagot  on  the  embers,  still  alight  under  the 
ashes,  of  his  fire.  He  set  the  lamp  upon  the 
credence — where  stood  the  great  golden  mon- 
strance from  Bastian's  wheel-barrow,  sparkling 
in  the  light.  "Yes,  this  is  sheer  madness,"  he 
repeated.  "Talk  about  the  folly  of  children! 
Well,  what  does  it  all  mean?"  He  settled 
himself  into  his  big  chair  and  with  his  elbows 
on  its  arms  joined  the  tips  of  his  fingers  before 
his  mouth.  His  lips  moved,  as  though  he  were 
reciting  a  prayer. 

Calisto  threw  his  cloak  upon  the  sofa  and 
drew  close  to  the  fire.  "I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion,"  he  said,  "that  there  is  truth  in  the 
proverb  that  if  you  want  a  good  drink  you  must 
pour  it  out  for  yourself !  I  had  your  promise  to 
bring  my  affair  with  the  Comtessine  to  a  good 
end,  and  I  relied  upon  it.  You  promised  me 
that  you  either  would  arrange  matters  as  I 
wanted  them  arranged  here,  or  that  you  would 
bring  the  Comtessine  to  the  Chateau  and  there 
marry  me  to  her.  Months  and  months  have 
passed,  and  you  have  done  neither  of  these 
things  that  you  promised  to  do.  Waiting  has 
become  utterly  hateful  to  me.  I  am  sick  and 
tired  of  straining  my  eyes  in  search  of  what 
never  comes  to  me.  Waiting  longer  in  that 


304 


wolfs  solitude  was  impossible.  And  so  here  I 
am  —  come  to  pour  out  for  myself  the  drink  that 
1  must  and  will  have! 

"  But  you  must  not  suppose,  Monsieur  le 
Chanoine,"  he  continued,  "that  I  have  for  a 
moment  doubted  your  good  faith.  I  know  that 
the  papers  and  the  money  which  I  have  left 
with  you  are  absolutely  secure;  and  I  am  satis- 
fied that  everything  that  you  could  do  for  me 
you  have  done.  What  I  have  doubted,  and 
what  1  do  doubt,  is  the  part  that  Mother  Dorothy 
is  playing.  She  knows  that  you  have  in  your 
keeping  the  Comtessine's  title  deeds,  to  give 
them  to  her  if  you  see  fit.  It  may  be  that  she 
is  working  in  the  interest  of  her  own  convent  — 
that  she  is  trying  to  bring  the  property  to  the 
convent  by  inducing  Adeline  to  become  a  nun." 

Monsieur  Jusserand  smiled  behind  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  and  shook  his  head  at  this  suggestion, 
but  he  made  no  re-ply  in  words. 

Calisto,  growing  more  excited,  continued: 
"  I  do  not  wish  to  resort  to  violence.  It  is  my 
desire  to  gather  the  flower  without  shaking  the 
branch.  Most  of  all.  I  wish  to  obey  you.  But 
there  is  a  limit  to  my  endurance,  and  if  I  find 
that  Mother  Dorothy  is  trying  to  rob  me  of  my 
bride  —  if  I  find  that,  be  assured,  Monsieur  le 
Chanoine,  that  violence,  and  very  terrible  vio- 
lence, will  be  used.  For  I  am  accustomed  when 
any  person  tries  to  hinder  me  to  remove  that 
person  from  my  path  !  "  And  Calisto,  his  eyes 
blazing,  made  the  gesture  of  one  who  stabs. 

Monsieur  Jusserand  never  had  seen  his  Calisto 
thus  given  over  to  rage.  The  old  man  was  not 
frightened,  but  in  spite  of  himself  a  shiver  ran 


3,  tflibnigbt  Conference  305 

through  him.  He  dropped  his  upraised  hands 
and  clasped  tightly  the  arms  of  his  chair. 
"  Come,  come,"  he  said,  "  you  are  talking  fool- 
ishly. The  reverend  Mother  Dorothy  has  done 
her  duty  by  you.  I  fear  that  she  may  even  have 
done  a  little  more  than  her  duty.  If  nothing  has 
been  accomplished,  it  is  the  fault  of  the  Comtes- 
sine  herself  and  of  those  miserables  the  Vauclairs. 
The  hold  that  those  creatures  have  upon  her  is 
inexplicable.  Vauclair  is  one  of  the  brigands 
who  went  up  to  Paris  with  the  Marseilles  Bat- 
talion. His  wife  must  be  of  the  same  sort.  No 
doubt  they  wish  to  marry  her  to  one  of  their 
own  vile  kind  and  so  get  their  share  in  plunder- 
ing her. 

"Indeed,"  continued  Monsieur  Jusserand, 
"lhave  just  discovered  that  immediately  after 
her  coming  to  Avignon  they  contrived  to  make 
her  give  a  little  house  and  a  scrap  of  land  to  the 
mother  of  that  Pascalet  who  so  sticks  in  her 
memory.  I  have  put  a  stop  altogether  to  her 
seeing  them.  The  woman  Lazuli  almost  made 
a  scandal  because  she  was  refused  admittance  to 
the  convent.  However,  1  arranged  the  matter 
quietly — though  at  the  cost,  I  fear,  of  burdening 
Sister'Margai's  conscience  with  a  few  lies.  She 
began  by  telling  the  creature  that  the  Comtes- 
sine  was  ill.  That  was  true.  She  worried  her- 
self ill  because  her  friends  did  not  come  to  see 
her.  Then  Sister  Margai  said  that  the  Comtes- 
sine  was  at  death's  door;  and,  finally,  that  she 
was  dead.  That  settled  the  matter.  But  you 
see,  my  Calisto,  we  have  been  obliged  to  go 
pretty  far  in  order  to  calm  the  Comtessine's 
disturbed  mind! 


306 


"But  with  it  all,"  the  Canon  concluded, 
''the  unhappy  girl's  head  still  is  full  of  that  dirty 
peasant  Pascalet.  His  name  always  is  on  her 
lips.  In  answer  to  whatever  we  say  to  her  it 
always  is  'My  Pascalet!  I  shall  wait  for  my 
Pascalet!'" 

"  But  what  does  she  say  when  you  speak  to 
her  about  me  —  the  Comte  de  la  Vernede  ?" 

"Well,  she  is  not  very  encouraging.  We 
told  her  that  the  Comte  de  la  Vernede  was  the 
rich  and  generous  nobleman  whom  her  sainted 
mother  had  commanded  her  to  marry." 

"  And  what  did  she  answer?" 

"That  she  knew  of  but  one  Comte  de  la 
Vernede  and  that  he  was  dead  —  murdered  in 
the  prison  of  the  Abbaye.  But  if  there  were  a 
living  and  a  true  Comte  de  la  Vernede,  she  went 
on,  or  a  marquis  or  a  duke  or  even  a  prince,  she 
would  have  none  of  them.  Only  her  Pascalet 
should  put  the  wedding-ring  on  her  finger  — 
only  he!  But,  after  all,  she  is  only  a  child  — 
and  this  is  only  childish  talk." 

"You  think,  then,  that  she  may  break  her 
promise  to  her  dirty  Pascalet?" 

'  '  Think  it  ?  I  am  sure  of  it  !  Very  likely  he's 
dead  by  this  time,  anyway.  If  he  isn't,  you 
have  only  to  show  yourself,  and  to  tell  her  how 
much  she  will  owe  to  you,  to  win  the  game. 
How  can  she  refuse  you  —  you  so  gallant,  so 
handsome,  who  generously  restore  to  her  her 
fortune,  who  are  set  apart  as  her  husband  by 
her  dead  mother's  command  ?  And  if  she  still 
hesitates  I  am  not  at  the  end  of  my  resources. 
Means  stronger  than  we  have  used  can  be  em- 
ployed! " 


iltibnigljt  Conference  307 


"Yes,"  Calisto  answered,  "and  I  am  ready 
to  employ  them!  " 

"Gently!  Gently!  You  misunderstand  me. 
Marriage  is  a  sacrament  that  requires  common 
consent.  What  1  mean  is  that  she  shall  hear  a 
higher  voice  than  ours." 

"Whose?" 

"The  voice  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Avignon. 
That  can  be  gained  easily.  To  put  the  matter 
in  train,  I  already  have  spoken  to  him  about  you. 
I  have  told  him  that  you  are  disposed  to  make  a 
donation  toward  supplying  his  cathedral  with 
the  holy  vessels  which  the  Revolutionists  stole 
away,"  and  the  Canon  gave  a  meaning  glance 
toward  the  magnificent  monstrance. 

"  You  have  uttered  what  has  been  my  own 
thought!"  Calisto  exclaimed  delightedly.  "I 
long  to  consecrate  a  portion  of  my  wealth  to 
the  Church.  As  for  this  monstrance,  it  shall  be 
the  first  of  my  gifts.  I  will  take  it  to  the  Lord 
Bishop  myself,  and  offer  it  to  him  as  I  kneel  at 
his  feet.  Whatever  else  he  needs  he  shall  have. 
I  will  give  him  everything  he  wants!  " 

"Well,  we  can  talk  all  this  over  in  the 
morning.  Now  we  will  go  to  bed.  You  know 
where  your  room  is.  Marianne  will  give  you 
her  lamp.  All  will  come  right  in  time,  do  not 
fear.  Good  night,  and  God  bless  you!  " 

The  Canon  called  Marianne,  and  then 
shuffled  away  in  his  slippers  to  bury  himself 
again  in  his  comfortable  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

BY    FAIR   MEANS   OR   BY    FOUL 

CALTSTO'S  brain  was  in  such  a  ferment  that 
sleep  was  impossible.  Resisting  old  Marianne's 
entreaties  to  go  to  his  bed,  he  wrapped  himself 
in  his  cloak  and  lay  down  upon  the  sofa.  There 
he  tossed  and  turned,  while  his  fevered  mind 
burned  with  longing  to  gain  his  end  quickly  by 
carrying  Adeline  away  from  the  convent  by 
force.  From  time  to  time  the  fire  would  blaze 
up  for  a  moment,  casting  a  red  light  upon  the 
ceiling  and  throwing  upon  the  golden  sun  of  the 
great  monstrance  a  crimson  glow. 

He  longed  for  the  sleep  that  would  not  come 
to  him.  He  longed  for  morning,  and  cursed  the 
slow  flight  of  time.  Time  moved  the  slower 
because  he  could  not  keep  track  of  it.  When 
Jacquemart,  up  in  his  tower,  pounded  on  his 
bell,  the  mistral  flung  the  sound  all  over  Avi- 
gnon and  made  counting  the  strokes  impossible. 
The  furiously  blowing  wind  filled  the  night 
with  noises,  by  turns  mysterious  and  violent. 
In  the  house  were  strange  creakings  and  stranger 
whisperings,  and  now  and  again  from  the  chim- 
ney would  come  a  dull  roar.  Outside,  the  shut- 
ters banged  and  rattled,  and  at  intervals  a  great 
crash  would  tell  of  a  chimney  dashed  bodily  into 
the  street  below.  Then  would  come  a  moment 
308 


itteans  or  bg  foni         3°9 


of  absolute  silence,  as  though  the  mistral  were 
pausing  to  draw  a  long  breath — and  then  a  fresh 
outburst  of  rattles  and  crashes  and  bangs.  And 
so,  wildly  but  very  wearily,  the  night  went  on. 

At  last  thin  rays  of  pale  light  began  to  show 
through  the  cracks  in  the  shutters,  and  with 
the  coming  of  dawn  the  wind  died  down.  The 
noises  caused  by  the  mistral  ceased,  but  other 
and  stranger  noises  began.  Calisto  fancied  that 
he  heard  the  hoof-beats  of  a  galloping  horse.  A 
little  later  Jacquemart's  bell  pealed  forth  loudly 
— bourn !  bourn !  bourn !  But  it  was  no  hour 
that  Jacquemart  was  striking — it  was  the  alarm ! 
Then  there  was  the  sound  of  windows  and 
doors  opened  hurriedly,  and  of  shouts  and  calls. 
Calisto  opened  his  shutters  a  very  little  way  and 
peeped  out,  listening  eagerly  to  the  cries  which 
went  from  window  to  window  among  the 
neighbours. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Very  likely  a  fire." 

"No,  that's  not  the  way  Jacquemart  talks 
when  there's  a  fire.  Just  hear  how  he  bangs!  " 

"I'm  afraid  that  it's  another  of  that  Bona- 
parte's victories,"  cried  an  old  fanatic  from  his 
fourth  floor. 

"Heaven  grant  that  it's  the  coming  of  our 
good  King!  "  cried  another  of  the  same  stripe. 

The  matter  was  set  at  rest  for  a  moment  by 
a  woman  who  seemed  to  know  all  about  it.  In 
her  shift,  with  her  hair  hanging  loose,  she  leaned 
forth  from  her  window.  Clapping  her  hands 
she  cried  loudly:  "  Long  live  the  King!  Long 
live  the  Pope!  Bonaparte's  dead!  " 

Royalists  and  Papalists  were  thick  in  that 


tOljite  ©error 


quarter  of  Avignon.  The  woman's  cry  was 
taken  up  joyfully.  From  all  the  windows  came 
glad  shouts  of  "  Long  live  the  Pope!  Long  live 
the  King!"  Somebody  put  out  the  white  flag 
—  and  in  five  minutes  the  ileur-de-lys  was  every- 
where. The  people  came  pouring  forth  from 
their  houses  into  the  street.  Some  of  them 
caught  hands.  Then  more.  Then  away  they 
all  went  in  a  farandole.  The  street  rang  with 
their  cheers.  Everybody  was  shouting  "  Long 
live  the  Pope!  Long  live  the  King!  " 

Monsieur  Jusserand  and  Marianne,  their 
clothes  tumbled  on  anyway,  came  running  to 
the  window  in  the  thick  of  an  argument. 

"  I  tell  you  it's  true,"  cried  Marianne.  "  Bona- 
parte's dead.  I'm  going  to  put  out  our  flag." 

"Softly!  Softly!"  said  the  more  prudent 
Canon.  "Wait  a  little  with  the  flag  until  we 
make  quite  sure." 

The  big  bell  of  Notre  Dame  des  Doms  — 
one  of  the  few  bells  not  sent  off  to  be  cast  into 
cannon  —  began  to  ring  loudly,  sending  over  all 
the  city  deep  sonorous  waves  of  melody.  '  '  Ah,  " 
exclaimed  Monsieur  Jusserand,  "if  Notre  Dame 
des  Doms  rings  her  bell  it  must  be  for  the 
triumph  of  our  King!  Spread  out  the  white 
flag,  Marianne.  Spread  out  the  flag  for  our 
King!"  And  turning  to  Calisto  he  went  on: 
"No  more  running  and  hiding  for  you  now! 
Bonaparte  is  dead  !  God  be  praised  for  deliver- 
ing us  from  that  curse  of  a  man  !  " 

Calisto  was  overjoyed.  His  mind  was  full 
of  delightful  fancies.  He  saw  himself,  with  his 
Comtessine,  living  a  life  of  elegance  at  his  Cha- 
teau de  la  Vernede.  He  saw  all  his  enemies 


SB  .fair  Means  or  bg  fon[         311 

cast  down  without  his  having  to  raise  his  hand. 
The  Republican  Prefect  of  Avignon  would  have 
to  run  for  his  life — and  in  a  hurry !  Should  he 
delay,  the  Rhone  that  night  would  be  carrying 
his  body  to  the  sea !  The  gendarmes  of  the"  Re- 
public would  be  replaced  by  the  Garde  Royale, 
commanded  by  noblemen.  Instead  of  the  gen- 
eral conscription,  the  army  would  be  made  up 
of  peasants  and  labourers,  again  with  noblemen 
in  every  post  of  command.  All  these  pleasant 
thoughts  went  whirling  through  Calisto's  head 
as  he  hung  out  from  the  window  a  white  silk 
flag  embroidered  with  fleurs-de-lys ;  and  like 
thoughts  were  in  the  heads  of  the  others  who 
were  putting  out  flags  from  the  windows  round 
about  him.  The  whole  Royalist  quarter  was 
draped  with  the  fleur-de-lys  to  its  very  ears! 
Everywhere  throughout  the  quarter  rose  the 
shout:  "Long  live  the  Pope!  Long  live  the 
King!" 

But  over  in  the  Republican  quarter  of  Avi- 
gnon Jacquemart's  bell  and  the  bell  of  Notre 
Dame  des  Doms  were  telling  a  very  different 
story — for,  as  we  say  in  Provence,  every  man 
turns  the  water  on  his  own  mill.  Over  there 
everybody  believed  that  the  bells  were  ringing 
for  another  great  victory  won  by  the  Republican 
army.  Over  there  they  believed  not  that  Bona- 
parte was  dead,  but  that  he  had  won  another 
battle  greater  than  Marengo — that  he  had  set  the 
tri-colour  on  the  towers  of  Milan  and  of  Venice 
and  had  at  his  feet  the  whole  of  conquered  Italy ! 
The  Republicans  also  got  out  their  flags  and  also 
shouted  and  also  danced  farandoles — but  their 
flag  was  the  red,  white  and  blue,  and  their 


312  fftlje  tOljite  terror 

shouts  were  Vive  la  Republique,  and  along  with 
their  farandoles  went  the  strains  of  the  "  Mar- 
seillaise." 

And  so  the  sun  came  up  and  shone  blithely 
on  one  half  of  Avignon  rejoicing  under  the 
fleur-de-lys  and  the  other  half  under  the  tri- 
colour. But  the  rejoicing  under  the  tri-colour 
was  that  which  was  destined  to  last. 

"This  news  fits  us,  "Canon  Jusserand  said 
to  Calisto,  with  a  very  wrong  notion  of  what 
the  news  really  was,  "as  a  ring  fits  the  finger. 
Now  you  can  come  with  me  to  the  Lord  Bishop 
in  perfect  safety.  Conscriptions  are  ended,  and 
Republican  gendarmes  are  a  thing  of  the  past! 
Dress  yourself  in  your  best.  We  will  go  to- 
gether to  the  holy  mass  that  his  Lordship  will 
celebrate.  When  the  mass  is  ended  we  will 
ask  an  audience  of  him,  and  then  present  to  him 
our  rich  offering." 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  old  Marianne — who 
had  been  out  to  gossip  about  the  good  news 
with  her  cronies — came  tearing  up  the  stair  cry- 
ing out:  "We  are  lost!  We  are  lost!"  Out 
of  breath  and  pale  as  chalk,  she  flung  herself  on 
the  sofa  and  began  to  groan. 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter  with  you?" 
exclaimed  Monsieur  Jusserand.  "Lost?  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Oh!  Oh! "  moaned  Marianne.  "The  good 
news  is  not  about  our  good  King  at  all!  It's 
about  that  vile  Bonaparte.  He's  won  another 
victory  over  more  emperors.  We  are  lost,  I 
say!  We  are  lost!  " 

'"Nonsense!"    cried    the    Canon    angrily. 
"  Who  has  been  telling  you  this  trash  ?  " 


Bg  fair  illcans  or  bg  foui          313 

"Hush!  Listen!"  said  Calisto.  "Yes,  I'm 
right!  Don't  you  hear  the  drums  beating  the 
generale  ?" 

The  Canon  listened  for  a  moment  ;  then, 
with  something  very  like  a  curse  on  his  lips, 
ran  to  the  window  and  snatched  in  the  white 
flag.  Calisto  rolled  up  the  flag  hastily  and  hid 
it  away.  Through  the  open  window  came 
clearly  the  strains  of  the  "  Marseillaise  "  !  They 
looked  out  together.  They  had  been  no  quicker 
than  the  others.  In  all  the  length  of  the  Rue  du 
Limas  not  a  white  flag  was  to  be  seen. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence,  which  the 
Canon  broke.  "  Well,  there  is  no  sense  in  stick- 
ing here  and  making  owls'  eyes  at  each  other. 
We  had  better  try  to  find  out  the  whole  truth." 

Calisto  made  no  answer.  The  sudden  change 
in  the  situation  had  both  frightened  and  angered' 
him.  With  his  eyes  cast  down  he  listened 
moodily  to  the  sounds  which  came  in  through 
the  open  window — the  shouts  from  the  crowd 
assembling  in  the  Place  du  Palais  des  Papes,  the 
rattle  of  drums,  the  strains  of  the  "  Marseillaise." 

"Don't  lose  your  head,"  the  Canon  con- 
tinued. "I've  told  you  a  dozen  times  that  we 
must  play  fast  and  loose  with  this  Bonaparte 
until  our  good  King  puts  him  out  of  the  way  for 
good  and  all.  For  the  moment  we  must  play 
fast  with  him.  What  has  happened  is  more 
likely  to  do  us  good  than  harm.  To-day,  in  all 
this  excitement,  the  gendarmes  will  not  bother 
themselves  to  hunt  for  conscripts.  You  can  go 
in  safety  with  me  to  the  Episcopal  Palace;  and 
when  we  get  there  we  are  certain  to  find  the 
Lord  Bishop  in  a  very  amiable  mood.  His 


314  ®1)£  fotyite  terror 


Lordship  is  a  rabid  Bonapartist,  and  he  has 
good  reason  to  be.  Not  very  long  ago  he  was 
the  poor  priest  of  a  poor  little  parish  down  in 
the  Var — one  of  the  priests  who  had  taken  the 
oath  to  the  Republic.  They  say  that  down 
there  he  entertained  Bonaparte  very  hospitably 
at  his  curacy — it  was  when  the  little  Corsican 
was  on  his  way  to  Toulon  to  drive  out  the 
English — and  that  a  great  friendship  was  struck 
up  between  them.  Anyhow,  when  Bonaparte 
became  First  Consul  he  made  the  poor  parish 
priest  of  the  Var  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Avignon. 
And  so,  you  see,  his  Lordship  is  certain  to  be  in 
a  good  humour  to-day  if  it  is  true  that  his  patron 
has  won  a  fresh  great  victory.  Therefore  we 
will  go  to  him  as  we  have  planned  to  go — but 
what  we  had  planned  to  say  to  him  we  will 
change  a  little.  I  shall  tell  him,  of  course,  that 
you  are  a  devoted  servant  of  the  Church,  and 
that  you  desire  to  aid  him  with  your  wealth  and 
with  your  influence  in  building  up  again  the 
strength  of  the  Church  in  Avignon.  But  1  shall 
add  that,  in  spite  of  your  noble  birth,  you  are  an 
enthusiastic  supporter  of  the  cause  of  the  First 
Consul.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  I  understand,"  said  Calisto  gloomily,  "that 
neither  to-day  nor  to-morrow  shall  I  possess  the 
Comtessine.  And  1  also  understand,"  he  went 
on  in  a  savage  tone,  "that  if  I  chose,  and  if 
Mother  Dorothy  chose  to  help  me,  in  an  hour 
from  now  I  could  have  the  Comtessine  inside  of 
a  tight-closed  carriage  and  could  be  galloping 
away  with  her  to  La  Vernede!  This  Bishop  of 
yours  is  one  of  those  Liberals  who  forever  are 
talking  about  people's  rights  and  the  majesty  of 


ti  iHenns  or  bn  fcrnl          3J5 


the  law — that  you  can't  do  this,  and  you  mustn't 
do  that,  and  it's  wrong  to  do  the  other!  He's 
one  of  the  kind  that  never  can  give  a  square  yes 
or  a  square  no!  " 

"You  forget  how  strong  is  the  appeal  that 
we  shall  make  to  him.  It  is  a  great  deal  that 
the  Comte  de  la  Vernede  should  offer  his  sub- 
mission to  the  First  Consul.  In  return  for  that 
submission  his  Lordship  cannot  refuse  you  what 
you  ask." 

"  Can't  he,  though !  By  your  own  showing, 
he's  a  Liberal — he's  taken  the  oath  to  the  Repub- 
lic. He's  a  friend  of  the  brigands,  and  he'll  fol- 
low their  ways.  Mark  my  words :  he  will  give 
the  Comtessine  to  me  if  she  consents  to  be  given. 
If  she  don't,  he  won't.  It  will  be  shorter  and 
quicker,  now  while  the  way  is  open,  for  me  to 
take  her  for  myself  by  force.'" 

"  Listen,  my  Calisto.  It  is  better  to  catch  a 
butterfly  by  luring  it  with  a  rose  than  by  clutch- 
ing it  in  a  grasp  that  will  crush  its  wings.  Let 
us  try  the  gentle  way  first.  Monseigneur  Esteve 
has  the  power  to  make  the  Comtessine  obey  her 
mother's  command.  Let  us  endeavour  to  per- 
suade him  to  exert  it.  Should  he  fail  us — well, 
in  that  case  there  may  be  something  in  the  plan 
which  you  propose.  Now  go  and  dress  yourself 
for  our  visit.  We  should  start  in  half  an  hour." 

' '  Will  it  ever  be?  "  Calisto  muttered  between 
his  teeth  as  he  left  the  room.  Adeline  must 
know  that  he  was  a  murderer.  Vauclair  surely 
had  told  her.  For  an  instant  a  vision  of  three 
ghastly  wounds  flashed  before  his  eyes — the, 
three  cruel  knife-thrusts  that  he  had  given  to  his 
kind  master  the  Comte  de  la  Vernede! 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE   LORD   BISHOP   OF    AVIGNON 

IT  was  because  the  Peace  of  Luneville  had 
been  signed  that  the  bells  of  Avignon  were 
ringing.  After  the  battle  of  Marengo,  the 
soldiers  of  the  Republic  led  by  Bonaparte  had 
chased  the  armies  of  the  Emperors  through  Italy 
into  Austria,  and  in  such  fright  that  they  ran  like 
rabbits  at  the  first  note  of  the  "Marseillaise"! 
Then  General  Moreau,  up  in  the  north — with 
the  help  of  Augerau  and  Macdonald^  and  Brune 
— fought  an  army  of  Austrians  and  Emigres  and 
won  the  battle  of  Hohenlinden.  It  was  after 
that  great  victory  that  the  brave  General  Brune 
— who  came  from  the  Limousine — cracked  one  of 
the  jokes  that  he  was  so  full  of  on  a  prisoner,  an 
Emigre,  who  came  from  the  same  country  and 
spoke  the  Limousine  dialect.  "I'll  give  you 
your  life,  you  poor  wretch  who  fight  against 
your  own  country,"  he  said,  "  on  one  condition: 
that  you  go  to  your  Austrian  Emperor  and  tell 
him  that  if  he  does  not  instantly  bring  the  keys 
of  his  capital  to  General  Bonaparte  I,  Brune, 
cadet  of  Brives-la-Gaillarde,  will  give  my  black 
horse  his  dinner  of  oats  off  your  Emperor's  own 
table  in  your  Emperor's  own  palace!  "  History 
is  silent  as  to  whether  or  not  the  traitor  saved 
his  life  on  these  terms.  But  it  is  certain  that  the 
316 


Corb  jBisliojj  of  &trignoti 


very  next  day  the  Emperor  of  Austria  sued  for 
peace;  and  that  he  sealed  it  by  signing  the 
famous  Treaty  of  Luneville  —  which  gave  to  the 
French  Republic  the  Rhine  frontier  and  the 
Ionian  Islands,  and  which  erected  the  Cisalpine 
Republic  and  so  spread  liberty  under  the  tri- 
colour over  the  whole  of  Central  Europe!  It 
was  for  that  great  treaty  that  the  bells  of  Avi- 
gnon were  set  a-ringing,  and  for  which  cannon 
thundered  from  the  Rocher  des  Doms! 

The  bells  still  were  pealing  and  the  cannon 
still  were  booming  when  Calisto  and  Monsieur 
Jusserand  —  followed  by  old  Marianne,  carrying 
the  gold  monstrance  wrapped  in  a  napkin  —  came 
out  into  the  Rue  du  Limas  on  their  way  to  the 
Bishop's  palace.  The  street  was  absolutely 
deserted  —  the  discomfited  Royalists  having 
hidden  away  in  their  holes  again  —  but  the  very 
houses  were  shaking  with  the  banging  of  the 
cannon  and  the  clatter  of  the  bells  and  the  roar 
of  the  near-by  crowd. 

Presently,  when  they  were  come  to  the  Place 
du  Palais  des  Papes,  they  were  a  part  of  the 
crowd  themselves  —  and  what  a  crowd  it  was! 
All  the  Reds  of  Avignon  were  there,  shouting 
at  the  top  of  their  lungs;  and  shouting  with 
them  were  hundreds  of  others  who  were  making 
a  demonstration  for  the  sake  of  prudence  and 
who  much  more  gladly  would  have  cheered  for 
the  King.  The  swarm  was  so  thick  that  they 
got  through  it  with  the  utmost  difficulty  — 
Calisto,  leading,  trying  to  make  a  way  by  the 
vigorous  use  of  his  elbows  ;  the  Canon  doing  his 
best  to  follow;  Marianne,  red  as  a  poppy,  her 
cap  all  awry,  carrying  the  big  monstrance  like  a 


318  ®l)£  tXHjite  iforror 

baby,  lagging  along  in  the  rear.  Gendarmes 
were  among  the  multitude;  and,  although  it 
was  quite  certain  that  the  very  last  thing  they 
were  thinking  about  was  the  conscription,  Ca- 
listo  shivered  at  the  sight  of  them  and  did  his 
best  to  give  them  a  wide  berth.  The  constant 
stops  that  they  were  compelled  to  make  added 
to  his  nervousness.  At  each  he  felt  that  he  was 
being  stopped  purposely,  and  that  in  another 
instant  he  would  feel  on  his  shoulder  the  grip  of 
a  gendarme's  hand. 

Suddenly  he  felt  some  one  twitch  his  coat 
from  behind,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  child's 
voice  said  "Bonjour,  Monsieur  Calisto! "  He 
faced  about  hurriedly,  but  there  was  no  familiar 
face  among  those  near  him  and  for  an  instant  he 
thought  that  his  ears  must  have  played  him  a 
trick.  Then,  looking  down,  he  caught  sight  of 
a  little  boy  wriggling  away  among  the  legs  of 
the  crowd  and  looking  back  in  evident  dread 
that  Calisto  might  be  following  him.  The  little 
chap  wore  a  red  cap  and  a  cockade,  quite  with 
the  air  of  a  man;  but  for  all  that  he  had  grown 
a  good  deal  in  the  years  that  had  passed  since 
Calisto  had  seen  him,  Calisto  knew  him  for 
Vauclair's  son,  Clairet. 

The  sight  of  this  child,  the  son  of  the  man 
who  already  had  put  the  gendarmes  on  his  track, 
sent  a  thrill  of  fear  through  Calisto  that  made 
him  forget  everything  but  his  own  safety.  His 
nearest  and  most  secure  place  of  shelter  for  the 
moment  was  the  Bishop's  palace.  Leaving 
Monsieur  Jusserand  and  old  Marianne  to  look 
out  for  themselves,  he  squirmed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  like  a  viper  and  with  an  astonishing 


£orb  Bisljop  of  "^Ungnon        319 


celerity  gained  the  palace  door.  Two  gendarmes 
stood  guard  there  drowsily,  paying  no  attention 
to  the  many  priests  and  monks  who  were 
hurrying  past  them  into  the  building;  but  when 
Calisto  joined  the  ingoing  throng  one  of  these 
drowsy-looking  guards  clapped  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder  and  halted  him  shortly.  This  was  a 
shivering  experience,  but  Calisto  retained  his 
presence  of  mind.  "Do  not  touch  me,"  he 
said,  "  I  am  the  Comte  de  la  Vernede." 

"Can't  help  who  you  are.  Orders  are  that 
only  priests  or  people  with  priests  go  in.  Stand 
back!  " 

By  that  time  Monsieur  Jusserand  had  come 
up,  Marianne  following  him.  "Monsieur  le 
Comte  is  in  my  company,"  he  said  to  the  gen- 
darme. 

"Then  it's  all  right.  Pass,  citizen!"  And 
as  the  Canon  and  his  companions  entered  the 
doorway  the  gendarme  resumed  his  position 
and  his  drowsy  look. 

All  the  priests  and  monks  of  Avignon  —  most 
of  whom  heartily  wished  Bonaparte  in  the 
depths  of  hell  —  were  crowding  to  pay  their 
compliments  to  Monseigneur  upon  his  illustri- 
ous friend's  achievement.  The  ante-room  was 
packed  full  of  them.  But  it  was  a  silent  com- 
pany, as  silent  and  as  grave  as  though  the  ante- 
room had  been  a  church  —  as,  indeed,  it  had  a 
little  the  flavour  of  being  because  of  the  faint 
scent  of  incense  from  the  near-by  oratory. 
Among  the  black-frocked  priests  and  the 
brown-gowned  and  grey-gowned  friars  Calisto, 
clad  in  bright-hued  silks  set  off  by  gold  buttons 
and  fine  lace,  was  a  brilliant  figure.  A  little 


320  ®l)e  tOl)ite  terror 

sigh  of  admiration  went  up  from  the  young 
abbes  as  they  stood  on  tip-toe  to  look  at  him ; 
when  the  name  of  "  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la 
Vernede  "  was  called  the  older  priests  and  the 
dignitaries  of  the  religious  orders,  clustered 
before  the  door  of  the  audience  chamber, 
drew  back  and  bowed  respectfully  to  let  him 
pass. 

Monseigheur  d'Avignon  himself  was  not  a 
little  moved  when  his  usher  called  this  aristo- 
cratic name.  Since  he  had  been  raised  to  the 
Episcopal  chair  of  the  ancient  capitol  of  Christen- 
dom not  a  single  member  of  the  old  nobility 
had  crossed  his  threshold.  From  afar  they  had 
looked  askance  upon  him — knowing  that  he 
had  been  raised  from  his  little  parish  to  his 
bishopric  because  of  the  friendship  of  the  brig- 
and Bonaparte.  Having  no  liking  for  a  bishop 
made  in  that  way,  they  had  let  him  severely 
alone. 

Therefore  his  Lordship's  cordial  smile  was 
very  genuine  as  he  came  forward  to  welcome 
the  Comte  de  la  Vernede,  and  his  satisfaction 
was  very  genuine  as  that  nobleman  kissed  his 
ring.  It  was  a  great  deal  that  such  a  member 
of  the  aristocracy  should  come  to  him  at  all;  it 
was  more  that  he  should  come  bringing  so  mag- 
nificent a  gift;  but  it  was  most  of  all  that  he 
should  come  with  congratulations  upon  the 
great  achievement  of  General  Bonaparte.  And 
his  Lordship  was  pleased,  also,  that  with  him 
should  come  such  a  seeming  irreconcilable  Roy- 
alist as  the  Canon  Jusserand.  Altogether,  the 
incident  was  a  most  gratifying  one.  In  the 
names  of  the  Republic  and  the  First  Consul  he 


Corb  Bisljop  of  QVoignon        321 


accepted  the  congratulations;  in  his  own  name 
and  in  that  of  the  Church  he  accepted  the 
splendid  monstrance;  and  ended  by  inviting 
his  two  so-welcome  visitors  to  a  private  audi- 
ence later  in  the  day,  and  to  be  a  part  of  his 
suite — upon  the  conclusion  of  the  public  recep- 
tion— at  the  Te  Deum  that  was  to  be  sung  in 
the  cathedral.  He  was  perfectly  honest  in  it 
all,  this  good  Bishop.  His  own  soul  was  pure 
and  his  nature  upright  and  generous.  But  be- 
cause he  was  so  ready  to  believe  that  others 
were  like  himself,  because  he  was  so  unsus- 
picious of  his  kind,  a  curious  thing  happened: 
On  the  27th  Pluviose  of  the  Year  X  the  people 
of  the  Papal  City  saw  in  the  cortege  of  the  Lord 
Bishop  of  Avignon,  listening  with  a  seemly  de- 
votion to  the  Te  Deum  that  was  sung  in  the 
cathedral  church  of  Notre  Dame  des  Doms,  a 
murderer  who  also  was  as  thorough  a  scoundrel 
as  ever  the  earth  had  borne! 

Later  in  the  day,  at  the  friendly  private  audi- 
ence which  Monseigneur  gave  to  Monsieur  le 
Comte  de  la  Vernede  and  to  Monsieur  le  Cha- 
noine  Jusserand,  the  more  personal  matter  was 
brought  forward  and  was  dealt  with  in  the  most 
satisfactory  way.  The  written  command  of  the 
Marquise  d'Ambrun  that  her  daughter  should 
marry  Calisto  des  Sablees  de  la  Vernede  was 
produced,  and  was  accepted  at  its  full  face 
value.  His  Lordship,  rightly  enough,  declared 
that  such  a  command  was  final  and  should  be 
obeyed ;  and  he  promised  that  he  himself  would 
visit  the  Comtessine  in  the  Ursuline  Convent 
and  would  endeavour  to  bring  her  to  repentance 
and  a  better  mind. 


322  QL\)e  tOljite  terror 

The  very  next  day  he  fulfilled  this  promise, 
and  his  unannounced  arrival  at  the  convent 
turned  that  placid  but  easily  excited  religious 
establishment  quite  upside  down.  The  whole 
Sisterhood  was  in  commotion  when  it  was 
known  that  the  Lord  Bishop's  carriage  was  be- 
fore the  convent  door.  The  bells  were  set 
a-ringing,  and  there  was  a  lively  discussion  and 
a  violent  clashing  of  opinions  as  to  how  and 
where  he  should  be  received.  This  discussion 
came  to  nothing.  While  it  still  was  in  prog- 
ress the  cause  of  it  had  knocked  at  the  little 
door  and  had  been  admitted  by  the  porteress, 
Sister  Margai.  In  utter  confusion  and  abase- 
ment, Sister  Margai  led  his  lordship  along  the 
garden  path,  absolutely  without  knowing — as 
she  subsequently  stated — whether  she  were 
standing  on  her  head  or  on  her  heels! 

Monseigneur  Esteve  perceived  her  tribulation, 
and  with  a  kindly  desire  to  put  her  at  her  ease 
began  to  talk  to  her.  ' '  Tell  me,  Sister, "  he  said, 
"what  is  our  Comtessine  d'Ambrun  doing  in 
these  days  ?  " 

This  carelessly  put  question  was  a  searching 
one.  ' '  Monseigneur, "  Sister  Margai  replied  with 
a  deep  reverence,  "  I  cannot  answer  you  with- 
out committing  the  heavy  sin  of  lying!  " 

"  What  can  you  possibly  mean,  my  child  ?" 
the  Bishop  said  kindly.  "Answer  me  at  once. 
Do  not  tremble  that  way.  You  have  nothing  to 
fear." 

"Monseigneur,  I  have  been  ordered  to  say 
that  the  Comtessine  is  dead." 

"That  is  very  extraordinary!  Why  were 
you  ordered  to  say  that  she  was  dead  ?  " 


®l)e  Corb  Bishop  of  Qlmgnon        323 

"Monseigneur,  I  do  not  know." 
"  But  you  have  said  that  she  was  dead  ?" 
"Monseigneur,  I  have!"  and  Sister  Margai 
heaved  a  very  deep  and  a  very  sorrowful  sigh. 

"  My  Sister,"  said  the  Bishop  gravely,  "you 
have  committed  a  great  sin.  For  your  penance, 
I  order  you  to  go  to  whomsoever'you  told  that 
the  Comtessine  was  dead  and  to  tell  them  that 
you  have  lied  to  them  and  to  ask  them  for  for- 
giveness." 

Monseigneur  would  have  pressed  the  matter 
farther,  but  at  that  moment  they  came  to  the 
chapel  door.  Inside  the  chapel  the  nuns  were 
in  waiting  for  him.  As  they  caught  sight  of 
the  little  Bishop— he  was  a  lean  little  man,  with 
one  shoulder  higher  than  the  other — they  fell 
prostrate,  their  faces  close  to  the  stone  floor. 
As  he  said  "  Benedicat  vos!"  and  made  the 
sign  of  blessing  them,  they  arose  and  ranged 
themselves  in  two  lines.  Between  these  lines 
he  passed  on  to  the  altar  slowly,  extending  his 
hand  to  right  and  to  left  that  the  Sisters  might 
kiss  his  ring.  The  older  nuns  performed  this 
act  of  homage  with  downcast  eyes;  but  the 
younger  ones  could  not  help  glancing  up  at  him 
from  under  their  veils — and  one  light-minded 
little  nun,  when  he  had  passed  her,  whispered 
to  her  neighbour  :  "  Mon  dieu  !  v  How  little 
he  is!  " 

Monseigneur  Esteve,  who  was  quick-eared 
and  fond  of  a  joke  even  at  his  own  expense, 
turned  about  briskly.  "And  also  just  a  trifle 
hump-backed!  "  he  added;  and,  with  a  smile  at 
the  poor  little  nun  as  she  went  quite  scarlet, 
passed  on  to  the  altar.  At  the  altar  he  became 


324  ®t)e  tOljite  terror 

grave  again — delivering  there  a  short  address  to 
the  Sisters  and  then  dismissing  them. 

These  formalities  being  accomplished,  Adeline 
was  brought  to  him  in  the  bishop's  room  of  the 
convent  and  in  the  presence  of  the  Mother  Supe- 
rior he  had  a  long  talk  with  her.  He  reasoned 
with  her  gravely,  as  a  father  might  have  done, 
pointing  out  to  her  the  scandal  that  would  ensue 
should  she  disobey  her  mother's  command;  and 
with  the  coaxing  tenderness  of  a  father  he 
stroked  her  cheeks  and  patted  gently  her  hands. 
But  neither  to  his  reasoning  nor  to  his  coaxing 
would  she  in  the  least  yield.  To  all  his  urgings 
she  opposed  a  firm  negative. 

Adeline  no  longer  was  a  child.  She  was  a 
tall  and  slender  and  very  beautiful  woman,  and 
she  had  a  woman's  will.  With  her  beauty  was 
an  indefinable  charm  that  compelled  not  only 
admiration  but  respect.  The  Bishop  yielded  to 
this  charm,  in  spite  of  himself,  and  found  the 
work  cut  out  for  him  extremely  difficult.  At 
the  end  of  his  final  appeal  she  remained  unshaken. 
Her  rich  sweet  voice  rang  clear  as  she  answered : 
"Never  shall  I  give  my  troth  to  any  one  but  my 
Pascalet!  "  As  she  spoke  the  words  "my  Pas- 
calet"  she  was  transfigured — the  flush  of  wild 
roses  was  in  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  flashed  like 
the  dawn! 

Monseigneur  d'Avignon,  a  wise  man  in  his 
generation,  for  the  time  being  gave  up  the  con- 
flict. "The  world  wasn't  made  in  a  day,"  he 
said  to  himself;  and  said  aloud  to  Adeline  that 
he  begged  her  to  reflect  upon  what  he  had 
urged  upon  her,  and  to  be  ready  to  give  him  a 
final  answer  in  a  fortnight's  time.  Then,  the 


®l)e  £orb  i3isl)op  of  QUngnou        325 

nuns  buzzing  about  him,  he  left  the  convent 
and  returned  to  his  palace — whence  he  des- 
patched to  the  Canon  Jusserand  a  brief  report 
of  how  his  interview  with  the  Comtessine 
had  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

A   PRAYER   TO   SAINT   URSULA 

WHEN  the  Bishop's  messenger,  Joselet,  came 
to  Canon  Jusserand's  house  he  found  there  only 
old  Marianne — and  a  terrible  taking  he  found 
her  in !  Before  she  had  the  door  fairly  open  she 
burst  out:  "Oh  how  the  seven  gendarmes 
frightened  me  when  they  came  here  last  night! 
I'm  all  in  a  tremble  over  it  still!  " 

"That's  very  bad,"  said  Joselet  sympathiz- 
ingly.  He  was  a  simple  soul,  with  just  about 
enough  wit  to  come  into  the  house  when  it 
rained,  and  to  light  and  to  put  out  the  altar 
candles. 

"No,  it's  not  so  very  bad,"  Marianne  an- 
swered, "  for  they  were  after  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
and  they  didn't  get  him." 

"Ah,  that's  very  good,"  said  Joselet. 

"No,  it's  not  very  good,  for  Monsieur  le 
Comte  had  to  crawl  out  of  the  cellar  window  in 
the  dead  of  night  and  fly  for  his  life." 

"That's  very  bad  indeed." 

"No,  it's  not  very  bad,  for  the  Porte  de 
1'Oulle  wasn't  shut  and  he  was  able  to  get  safe 
away  to  his  Chateau." 

"That's  very  good  indeed." 

"No,  it's  not  very  good,  for  Monsieur  le 
326 


Qt  fJrager  to  Saint  Hrsnla          327 

Chanoine  had  to  go  off  with  the  gendarmes  to 
the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  try  to  smooth  things 
over  and  make  explanations." 

Joselet's  slow  wits  were  put  completely  out 
of  tune  by  this  boxing  back  and  forth  of  his 
sympathies.  "  Heaven  for  your  good  luck,  and 
hell  for  your  bad  luck,"  he  said  shortly.  "  Here, 
take  this  letter  and  give  it  to  Monsieur  le  Cha- 
noine when  he  returns."  And  Joselet  twisted 
about  on  his  heel  and  went  away. 

It  was  Clairet  who  had  brought  about  Calis- 
to's  midnight  flight  from  Avignon.  The  little 
scamp  had  spent  the  whole  day  away  from 
home,  doing  so  much  more  than  his  share  to 
help  celebrate  the  Peace  of  Luneville  that  when 
night  came  he  found  himself  in  an  awkward 
dilemma:  he  was  very  hungry  and  wanted  his 
supper;  he  was  in  dire  fear  that  his  whole  day's 
absence  from  home  would  be  rewarded  with  a 
spanking!  Pushed  forward  by  his  hunger  and 
pulled  backward  by  his  dread,  he  approached 
his  home  slowly.  Just  on  the  threshold  a  bril- 
liant plan  for  creating  a  diversion  occurred  to 
him.  Instantly  he  dashed  into  the  house  and 
burst  out  with :  "Mother!  Father!  Such  news! 
You'll  never  guess  it!  I've  seen  Monsieur 
Calisto!" 

Clairet's  plan  worked  to  a  charm.  Vau- 
clair  started  up  from  the  supper-table  as  though 
a  thunderbolt  had  fallen.  "  Where  did  you  see 
him?"  he  exclaimed.  "Are  you  sure  that  it 
was  he  ?  " 

"I  saw  him  on  the  Place  du  Palais.  I'm 
quite  sure  that  it  was  he.  I  called  out  to  him 
'  Bonjour,  Monsieur  Calisto,'  and  he  turned 


328  ®t)e  iX)l)ite 


around  and  glared  at  me  horribly.  Then  I  ran 
away.  It  was  he  for  sure!  " 

In  spite  of  Lazuli's  entreaties  to  finish  his 
supper,  Vauclair  grabbed  his  hat  and  dashed  off 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  '  '  I  won't  wait  a  minute  !  " 
he  cried.  "Murderer  and  shirking  coward  that 
he  is,  I  must  start  the  gendarmes  after  him  this 
instant!  At  last  I've  got  him  —  and  I've  got  him 
fast!" 

But,  as  the  event  proved,  Vauclair  had  not 
got  him  fast.  Again  Calisto  slipped  away  from 
the  gendarmes,  and  this  time  hid  himself  at  the 
Chateau  de  la  Vernede.  There,  with  his  peas- 
ants keeping  sharp  watch  for  him,  he  was  safe; 
and  there  he  went  through  another  season  of 
waiting  even  more  irksome  than  that  which 
he  had  passed  at  La  Garde.  A  whole  month 
dragged  slowly  on  without  news  coming  to  him 
from  Avignon.  He  was  in  a  rage  with  every- 
body; but  his  liveliest  rage  was  against  the 
Bishop,  who  he  believed  was  playing  him 
false. 

However,  Monseigneur  d'Avignon  was  not 
to  blame  in  the  premises.  His  second  visit  to 
Adeline  had  been  as  fruitless  as  his  first  visit. 
Equally  fruitless  had  been  his  third  visit.  The 
more  that  he  lectured  the  Comtessine  upon  the 
sin  of  disobedience,  the  more  vigorously  did  she 
assert  her  intention  of  obeying  only  her  own 
heart.  She  would  marry  Pascalet,  or  she  would 
marry  nobody.  On  that  she  made  her  stand. 

Mother  Dorothy  and  Canon  Jusserand,  satis- 
fied that  neither  persuasion  nor  argument  would 
have  any  effect  upon  her,  resorted  to  measures 
of  a  sterner  sort.  They  shut  her  up  in  a  cell: 


01  Prater  to  Saint  Ursula 


to  give  her  an  opportunity,  they  said,  to  reflect 
upon  her  evil  courses,  and  to  pray  to  Saint  Ur- 
sula to  set  her  in  the  right  way.  She  was  to 
make  a  novena,  Mother  Dorothy  told  her. 
When  her  novena  was  ended  Monseigneur 
would  come  to  receive  her  final  answer.  If  the 
answer  was  not  what  they  hoped  that  it  would 
be,  she  would  be  sent— so  Mother  Dorothy  inti- 
mated— in  a  closed  carnage  to  La  Vernede  and 
there  delivered  to  the  husband  chosen  for  her  by 
her  sainted  mother  the  Marquise. 

Shut  fast  in  her  cell — lighted  by  a  single  high- 
up  window,  bare  save  for  the  agonized  Christ 
upon  His  cross  hung  against  the  wall,  with  only 
her  rosary  and  her  book  of  hours — Adeline's  no- 
vena  was  one  long  torture:  with  the  coarser 
torture  imminent  of  being  delivered  over  at  the 
end  of  it  to  a  man  utterly  unknown  to  her — very 
likely  old  and  cruel  and  jealous — who  would 
make  her  life  as  hard  as  the  very  stones.  But 
she  was  resolute.  Never,  never  would  she 
yield,  she  said  to  herself  again  and  again. 
Sooner  would  she  die.  Before  the  crucifix  she 
cast  herself  in  prayer.  But  the  eyes  of  the  ago- 
nized Christ  were  turned  upward  and  away 
from  her — He  did  not  seem  to  hear.  Then  she 
invoked  the  grace  of  sweet  Saint  Ursula — but  no 
grace  came.  Even  her  human  friends  had  for- 
saken her.  Lazuli  and  Vauclair  no  longer  came 
to  see  her.  She  prayed  again,  this  time  that 
these  good  friends  might  come  to  her.  They 
came  not.  And  Pascalet  ?  Now  that  there  was 
peace  again  why  did  he  not  come  and  deliver 
her  ?  She  prayed  for  his  coming.  He  did  not 
come.  God,  the  saints,  her  friends,  her  lover, 


33°  ®be  ta3l)ite  terror 

seemed  all  to  have  deserted  her.  Creeping  into 
her  heart  came  cold  desp^r! 

As  this  agonizing  novena  drew  close  to  its 
end  Monsieur  Jusserand  and  Mother  Dorothy 
decided  to  make  one  more  strong  effort  to  break 
Adeline's  stubborn  will.  On  the  last  evening  of 
her  seclusion — the  evening  preceding  the  day  on 
which  she  was  to  receive  the  Lord  Bishop  and 
give  him  her  final  answer — the  Canon  brought 
to  the  convent  the  title  deeds  to  her  estate  and 
the  written  command,  signed  by  her  mother, 
that  she  should  marry  Calisto  des  Sablees  de  la 
Vernede.  It  was  his  hope  that  when  she  saw 
these  papers  with  her  own  eyes,  and  was  assured 
that  the  title  deeds  were  to  be  restored  to  her  by 
the  man  whom  she  was  to  wed,  she  at  last 
would  yield. 

When  Canon  Jusserand  and  Mother  Dorothy 
softly  entered  Adeline's  cell  they  found  her  on 
her  knees  before  the  crucifix — praying,  but 
praying  almost  hopelessly,  to  the  impassive 
Christ  whose  eyes  were  turned  upward  and 
away.  They  began  their  attack  on  the  side  of 
worldly  interest.  They  spread  out  before  her 
the  documents  which  made  good  her  title  to  the 
estate  of  La  Garde,  and  declared  with  a  con- 
vincing earnestness  that  on  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage these  documents  would  be  surrendered 
into  her  keeping.  Her  answer  completely  cut 
the  ground  from  under  their  feet.  Wealth  and 
rank  were  nothing  to  her,  she  said.  It  was  her 
desire  to  be  one  of  the  people.  She  wished  to 
be  as  her  Pascalet  was.  That  would  please  him 
most  when  he  returned  to  her.  She  was  sure, 
she  added,  in  a  voice  that  shook  a  little,  that  he 


&  Draper  to  Saint  Hrsnia          331 

would  return  to  her  very  soon — very  soon  in- 
deed, now  that  the  peace  was  signed. 

Baffled  by  this  reply,  that  made  any  attempt 
at  argument  hopeless,  Canon  Jusserand  ad- 
vanced his  second  line  of  attack — on  the  side  of 
filial  duty — by  placing  in  her  hand  the  paper 
signed  by  her  mother.  Adeline  tried  to  read 
the  paper,  but  at  the  first  glance  she  saw  only 
the  signature;  and  the  sight  of  her  mother's 
name,  written  in  her  mother's  hand,  so  over- 
came her  that  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  she 
could  not  read  the  words  to  which  that  signa- 
ture was  affixed.  She  pressed  the  signature  to 
her  lips.  It  seemed  as  though  she  heard  her 
mother  calling  to  her.  She  trembled  from  head 
to  foot.  Then,  as  she  looked  at  the  paper  again, 
she  saw  another  name — a  name  that  checked 
her  tears  and  that  made  her  see  clearly.  With 
eyes  not  tearful,  but  flashing,  she  read : 

I,  the  Marquise  Adelaide  d'Ambrun,  give  in  marriage  my 
daughter,  the  Comtessine  Adeline  d'Ambrun,  to  the  faithful 
Calisto  des  Sablees  de  la  Vernede.  I  believe  that  my  daugh- 
ter will  carry  out  my  wishes,  and  so  will  show  her  obedience 
to  her  unhappy  mother,  ADELAIDE  D'AMBRUN. 

As  Adeline  read  these  words  the  whole 
horror  of  the  situation  was  clear  to  her.  Her 
clenched  hands,  holding  the  paper,  fell  to  her 
sides — tearing  it  into  two  pieces.  Her  face  be- 
came a  dead  white.  Her  breath  came  in  gasps. 
In  a  broken  voice,  shrill  with  dread,  she  cried; 
"That  man!  That  man  the  Comte  de  la  Ver- 
nede! That  is  no  Comte  de  la  Vernede!  That 
is  Calisto — the  murderer!"  And  with  a  pierc- 


332  ®l)£  tOl)ite  Bettor 

ing  cry  that  went  ringing  through  the  whole 
convent  she  fell  to  the  floor. 

The  first  care  of  Canon  Jusserand  and  of 
Mother  Dorothy  was  to  force  open  Adeline's 
clenched  hands  and  to  secure  possession  of  the 
torn  paper.  This  being  accomplished,  they 
picked  her  up  between  them  and  laid  her  on 
her  bed.  Then  Mother  Dorothy  went  out  into 
the  passage  and  called  sharply  for  Sister  Margai 
— who,  alarmed  by  the  cry  that  she  had  heard, 
came  up  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time.  When 
she  saw  the  Comtessine,  dead  white,  stretched 
out  upon  the  bed  she  fell  on  her  knees,  with 
clasped  hands,  exclaiming:  "Oh  my  Adeline, 
it  was  you  who  gave  that  dreadful  cry — it  was 
you,  giving  yourself  up  to  death!  Oh  great 
Saint  Ursula  of  Jesus,  have  pity  on  her! " 

"Nonsense !  "  said  Mother  Dorothy.  " The 
child  is  not  dead.  She  is  only  in  a  faint.  She 
must  be  put  to  bed  at  once  and  well  warmed. 
See  to  that,  Sister  Margai,  and  be  quick  about 
it.  I  will  send  you  vinegar  and  orange-flower 
water. "  The  Mother  Superior  hurried  out  of  the 
room.  Canon  Jusserand,  after  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross  with  his  thumb  upon  Adeline's  fore- 
head, followed  her,  murmuring  a  prayer. 

Being  left  alone  with  the  apparently  lifeless 
body,  Sister  Margai  resorted  to  treatment  which 
— though  less  practical  than  emotional — was 
effective.  "Oh  Adeline!  Adeline!  "  she  cried, 
clasping  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  fainting 
girl.  "You  cannot  be  dead!  I  shall  not  let 
you  be  dead!  Wake!  Monseigneur  d'Avignon 
is  coming! " 

At  that  name  a  little  tremor  went  through 


31  fhrager  to  Saint  Hrsula          333 

Adeline's  rigid  body,  her  eyelids  closed  for  an 
instant  over  her  staring  eyes  and  then  opened 
naturally.  In  a  voice  that  was  the  merest  whis- 
per of  sound,  she  said  tremulously:  "The  mur- 
derer! The  murderer,  Monseigneur!  Deliver 
me  from  him! " 

"My  Adeline,  there  is  no  murderer  here. 
You  are  safe  with  me,  with  Sister  Margai  who 
loves  you !  "  That  Adeline  had  spoken,  although 
so  wildly,  comforted  Sister  Margai  greatly. 
Adeline  had  had  another  such  attack  as  that 
which  had  overcome  her  reason  once  before, 
the  kind-hearted  nun  concluded;  and  as  she 
had  recovered  then,  so  would  she  again  recover 
if  given  rest  and  care.  All  the  same,  Sister 
Margai  was  puzzled.  It  was  the  shock  caused 
by  the  burning  of  Bedoin,  and  the  death — as  she 
believed — of  Monsieur  Randoulet  in  the  flames, 
that  had  unhinged  Adeline's  mind  that  other 
time.  What  fresh  shock  could  she  have  had 
when  only  Monsieur  Jusserand  and  Mother  Dor- 
othy were  with  her  ?  What  had  caused  her 
woeful  cry  ?  What  had  set  her  to  praying  to  be 
delivered  from  a  murderer  ?  Sister  Margai  had 
much  to  think  about — as  she  sat  in  the  gather- 
ing dusk  beside  Adeline,  talking  to  her  sooth- 
ingly and  gently  stroking  her  hands.  Her 
thoughts  were  so  painfully  "perplexing  that  she 
was  glad  to  have  Sister  Scholastica  come  hurry- 
ing into  the  room,  bringing  the  vinegar  and 
orange-flower  water  and  bringing  also  a  lamp. 
She  had  been  sent  by  Mother  Dorothy — who 
herself  was  engaged  with  Canon  Jusserand  in 
trying  to  piece  together  the  paper  that  Adeline 
had  torn.  Should  the  Bishop  require  sight  of  it 


334  ®l)e  tOljite  terror 

again,  and  find  it  in  two  fragments,  he  might 
ask  awkward  questions. 

The  tender  and  soothing  ministrations  of 
these  two  good  Sisters,  who  loved  her  very 
dearly,  in  a  little  while  restored  Adeline's  mind 
to  its  balance  and  brought  back  some  of  her 
strength  again.  And  then  their  sympathy,  and 
her  own  need  of  unburdening  her  soul  of  the 
sorrow  that  was  crushing  her,  led  her  to  tell 
them  of  the  desperate  strait  in  which  she  was: 
that  she  either  must  consent  to  be  married  to  a 
murderer,  or  must  commit  the  sin  of  disobeying 
her  dead  mother's  express  command.  She  told 
them  the  whole  story — and  as  they  heard  it  the 
good  Sisters  also  became  desperate  and  gave 
way  to  tears  and  groans.  When  it  was  finished, 
by  a  common  impulse,  they  fell  on  their  knees 
and  implored  the  holy  Saint  Ursula  of  Jesus, 
patroness  of  the  convent,  to  show  them  a  way 
of  escape;  to  open  a  door  through  which  her 
servant  might  pass  and  be  in  safety. 

The  Sisters,  at  least,  believed  that  Saint 
Ursula  heard  and  completely  answered  their 
prayer.  To  all  of  them,  as  they  prayed,  came 
the  same  thought:  safety  could  be  reached 
through  the  door  of  Saint  Ursula's  own  con- 
vent; protection  perpetual  could  be  found  be- 
neath the  veil  which  Saint  Ursula  and  her  eleven 
thousand  companions,  virgins  and  martyrs,  had 
worn !  To  Adeline,  although  she  also  accepted 
it,  this  answer  was  at  once  harrowingly  incom- 
plete and  cruel.  It  was  true  that  beneath  the 
veil  of  Saint  Ursula  she  would  find  safety,  but 
for  her  love  it  would  be  a  shroud.  Death  in 
life  was  before  her,  or  insufferable  dishonour — 


to  Saint  Ursula          335 


the  shelter  of  the  pure  cloister,  or  the  arms 
of  a  creature  foul  with  crime.  "God  and 
Saint  Ursula  help  me,"  she  whispered.  "I 
choose  that  which  my  Pascalet  would  have  me 
choose!  " 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE   PRICE   OF   VICTORY 

WHEN  the  convent  bell  rang  matins  Adeline 
was  sleeping  so  peacefully  that  Sister  Scholastica 
and  Sister  Margai  did  not  hesitate  to  leave  her 
— that  they  might  join  the  other  Sisters  in  the 
chapel  in  singing  the  three  anthems  and  the 
three  psalms.  For  this  Mother  Dorothy  reproved 
them ;  and  in  answer  was  assured  that  not  only 
had  Adeline  recovered  from  her  seizure,  but  that 
the  blessed  Saint  Ursula  had  put  a  high  and  a 
holy  purpose  in  her  heart.  When  Monseigneur 
d'Avignon  came  to  visit  her,  they  added,  he 
would  be  surprised  and  edified  by  finding  how 
willingly  she  would  make  her  submission  to  the 
will  of  God. 

This  good  news  brought  to  the  reverend 
Mother  Dorothy  a  profound  happiness.  Evi- 
dently, all  was  going  as  she  wished  that  it 
should  go.  The  marriage  which  she  so  longed 
for  would  take  place;  and  by  helping  to  bring 
it  about  she  would  have  atoned,  she  felt,  for 
the  sin  of  her  youth.  When  the  child  who  had 
been  abandoned  in  the  sand-pits  of  Aramon 
should  be  firmly  established  as  the  lord  of  Ara- 
mon, then  indeed  would  the  erring  father  and 
mother  of  that  child  have  done  their  duty  by 
him  to  the  full.  She  turned  back  into  the 
336 


J)rice  of  bictorri 


337 


chapel  and  knelt  alone  at  the  altar,  pouring  out 
her  thankfulness  to  God  that  he  had  permitted 
her  at  last  to  set  right  the  wrong  that  she  had 
done.  To  her,  Adeline's  cry  that  Calisto  was  a 
murderer  was  the  mere  raving  utterance  of  a 
disordered  mind.  With  joy  and  gratitude  in 
her  heart  the  Mother  Superior  returned  to  her 
cell.  The  other  Sisters  already  had  gone  back 
to  the  boards  that  served  them  for  beds.  Pres- 
ently the  convent  was  silent  again,  wrapped  in 
its  midnight  repose. 

One  nun  did  not  sleep,  and  soon  a  strange 
dull  noise  broke  the  silence — a  soft  sound,  yet 
penetrating,  made  by  the  lashing  of  tender  flesh. 
No  one  paid  any  attention  to  it.  Rarely  did  a 
night  pass  undisturbed  by  this  sound — some- 
times from  one  cell,  sometimes  from  another, 
but  always  the  same.  •  It  would  last  while  a 
miserere  would  be  recited.  Then  it  would  stop, 
and  silence  would  come  again.  That  night  the 
sound  lasted  longer  than  usual,  and  it  came 
from  the  cell  of  Sister  Margai.  In  that  poor 
nun's  breast,  very  tender  and  human,  Adeline's 
passionate  lamentations  for  her  lost  love  had 
wrought  havoc — stirring  up  nettle  memories  of 
a  spring-time  over  which  the  winter  of  the 
cloister  unavailingly  had  cast  its  snows.  Ade- 
line's vivid  talk  of  Pascalet  had  brought  vividly 
into  her  own  mind  her  little  heart-romance 
when  she  was  the  turkey-herd  at  the  farm  of 
Peire-Avon ;  had  set  clearly  before  her  eyes  that 
younger  son  of  Toni's  who  jollily  had  kissed 
her  behind  the  yew-tree  once  in  the  long,  long 
ago.  To  holy  Saint  Ursula  she  prayed  to  hide 
from  her  this  betraying  vision.  But  Saint  Ursula 


338  ®l)£  tObite  terror 

heard  not  her  prayer.  It  was  then,  prayer  fail- 
ing her,  that  she  exorcised  her  vision  with  the 
seven-knotted  scourge.  That  day,  when  Mon- 
seigneur d'Avignon  knocked  at  the  gate  of  the 
convent,  the  Sister  who  opened  to  him  had  eyes 
wan  and  sunken  and  a  face  as  pale  as  the  wax 
of  the  altar  candles — and  as  pure. 

Mother  Dorothy,  on  the  contrary,  as  she 
hastened  to  meet  the  Lord  Bishop,  had  a  face  so 
bright  with  happiness  that  she  seemed  suddenly 
to  be  younger  by  a  good  ten  years.  So  full 
was  she  of  the  glad  news  that  she  had  for  him 
that  she  began  to  tell  it  before  she  fairly  had 
risen  from  kissing  his  ring. 

"Monseigneur,"  she  said  joyfully,  "the  no- 
vena  has  borne  good  fruit!  Saint  Ursula  herself 
has  touched  the  heart  of  the  Comtessine.  At 
last  she  is  willing  to  obey ! " 

"God  be  praised!"  exclaimed  the  good 
Bishop  earnestly. 

"Yes,  Monseigneur,"  Mother  Dorothy  con- 
tinued, "the  devil  who  has  been  tempting  her 
to  disobedience  fled  from  her  body  last  night. 
In  the  presence  of  this  your  servant,  and  of  the 
Canon  Jusserand,  he  forsook  her — but  with  such 
wrathful  violence  that  for  a  time  we  feared  that 
he  had  bereft  her  of  her  mind." 

"Poor  child!  Poor  innocent  child,"  Mon- 
seigneur said  pityingly. 

"Then  it  was,"  Mother  Dorothy  went  on, 
"that  our  holy  Saint  Ursula  of  Jesus  appeared 
to  her  and  drove  the  evil  spirit  utterly  away. 
Suddenly,  in  an  instant,  the  Comtessine  had 
back  again  her  reason.  And  then,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Sister  Margai  and  Sister  Scholastica, 


Jprice  of  biclorg  339 


who  were  caring  for  her,  she  holily  declared 
her  willingness  to  submit  to  the  will  of  God." 

As  the  Mother  Superior  set  forth  these  edi- 
fying facts  they  were  advancing,  preceded  by 
Sister  Margai,  through  the  corridors  of  the  con- 
vent, and  as  she  reached  her  satisfactory  conclu- 
sion they  came  to  the  door  of  Adeline's  cell. 

"Benedicatas  Domino!"  called  Sister  Mar- 
gai. 

'  '  Deo  gratias  !  "  came  the  answer  in  Adeline's 
voice,  as  sweet  and  as  clear  as  the  song  of  a 
bird. 

Together  the  Lord  Bishop  and  the  Mother 
Superior  entered  the  cell.  The  door  behind 
them  was  closed. 

Left  in  perilous  proximity  to  the  key-hole. 
Sister  Margai  found  herself  beset  by  that  form 
of  the  sin  of  curiosity  which  manifests  itself  in 
eavesdropping.  To  combat  her  temptation  she 
had  resort  to  her  rosary  —  telling  her  beads  aloud, 
with  intent  to  set  up  the  sound  of  her  own  voice 
as  a  barrier  between  what  she  should  not  hear 
and  her  too-eager  ears.  This  system  of  defense 
was  not  wholly  effective.  She  did  not  hear  the 
words  spoken  within  the  cell,  but  she  did  hear 
the  tones  of  the  three  voices.  At  first,  these 
were  gentle  and  friendly  ;  but  presently,  after  a 
moment  of  silence,  the  voice  of  Mother  Dorothy 
rose  shrill  and  loud  and  menacing;  then  the 
voice  of  the  Bishop  interposed  to  check  her  out- 
burst ;  and  with  these  evidently  conflicting  utter- 
ances came  the  sound  of  Adeline's  sobs.  The 
Bishop's  remonstrances  were  ineffectual.  Mother 
Dorothy's  voice  rose  louder  and  shriller  —  never 
had  Sister  Margai  heard  it  so  fierce  and  so  terri- 


340  ®|)e  tOljite  terror 

ble.  She  seemed  almost  to  bark,  to  howl,  in 
her  rage.  The  Bishop's  voice  became  deeper 
and  sterner.  Adeline's  voice  was  raised  in  a 
frightened  cry.  Sister  Margai,  as  a  final  measure, 
resolutely  put  her  fingers  in  her  ears.  At  last 
the  door  of  the  cell  opened  and  the  two  came 
out.  Sister  Margai  unstopped  her  ears,  as  was 
her  right,  and  so  without  sin  heard  the  Lord 
Bishop  say  these  extraordinary  words:  "Sister 
Dorothy,  the  devil  that  was  cast  out  from  the 
Comtessine's  body  surely  must  have  entered 
into  yours!" 

""Pardon,  Monseigneur!  "  cried  the  Mother 
Superior,  kneeling  before  him. 

"Sister,"'  the  Bishop  answered,  "  when  you 
have  done  a  sufficient  penance  you  will  win 
your  pardon  from  God!  "  He  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  over  her  and  walked  on. 

Mother  Dorothy  arose  and  followed  him  and 
knelt  to  him  again,  asking:  "Monseigneur, 
what  penance  must  I  do  ?  " 

Still  walking  onward,  the  Lord  Bishop  said 
in  a  tone  deep  and  sad  and  grave:  "  You  must 
become  the  serving-sister  of  the  convent.  And 
you  must  sew  the  robe  and  the  veil  in  which, 
on  this  coming  Ash  Wednesday,  the  nun 
Adeline  will  take  upon  her  Saint  Ursula's 
vows! " 

Leaving  her  kneeling  there,  overwhelmed  by 
her  shame,  Monseigneur  d'Avignon  passed  on 
and  left  the  convent.  Not  until  she  heard  the 
wheels  of  his  departing  carriage  did  the  stricken 
and  humbled  Sister  Dorothy,  Mother  Superior 
no  longer,  rise  from  her  knees.  She  staggered 
to  her  cell,  utterly  broken  by  the  sentence  passed 


JJrice  of  tMctorg  341 


upon  her  to  become  the  serving-sister  of  the 
convent  over  which  for  so  many  years  she  had 
ruled! 

Being  come  again  to  his  palace,  the  Lord 
Bishop  despatched  thence  two  writings.  One  of 
these  was  a  letter  to  the  Canon  Jusserand,  inform- 
ing him  that  there  could  be  no  marriage  between 
the  Comtessine  d'Ambrun  and  the  Comte  de  la 
Vernede  —  for  the  sufficient  reason  that  the  Com- 
tessine, by  the  grace  of  God,  had  decided  to 
profess  religion  in  the  Order  of  Saint  Ursula  and 
so  would  be  relieved  from  obedience  to  the 
command  of  her  sainted  mother  the  Marquise. 
Beyond  making  Canon  Jusserand  furiously  angry 
with  the  brigand  of  a  Republican  Bishop  who 
had  played  him  false,  this  letter  produced  no  im- 
mediate result.  In  a  little  while,  conveyed  by  a 
trusty  messenger,  it  was  on  its  way  to  Calisto 
at  La  Vernede. 

His  Lordship's  other  writing  was  a  parch- 
ment, duly  signed  and  sealed,  which  formally 
appointed  Sister  Scholastica  to  be  Mother  Supe- 
rior of  the  Convent  of  Saint  Ursula  in  Sister 
Dorothy's  place.  This  produced  a  result  both 
immediate  and  violent.  The  whole  convent 
fairly  was  set  in  a  whirl  by  it.  Most  of  the  Sis- 
ters, quite  inconsequently,  took  to  weeping; 
and  they  all  chattered  like  so  many  pies.  When 
the  commotion  a  little  had  subsided,  they  car- 
ried out  the  command  of  the  Bishop  in  thei'r  own 
way.  They  escorted  their  late  Mother  Superior 
from  her  cell  to  the  chapel;  and  there,  while  the 
convent  bell  was  tolled,  they  sung  the  Miserere. 
and  the  De  profundis  —  quite  as  though  they 
were  conducting  her  funeral.  Then,  weeping 


342  ®l)e  tObite  terror 

over  her,  they  led  her  to  the  kitchen  and  put  on 
her  the  apron  that  as  serving-sister  was  her 
badge  of  office;  and  left  the  poor  shamed  crea- 
ture there  charged  with  the  duty  of  making 
ready  a  dish  of  carrots  and  a  dish  of  greens. 
They  had  cried,  "The  Queen  is  dead!"  but 
they  still  had  to  cry  "Long  live  the  Queen!" 
In  the  kitchen  they  left  their  tears  and  their  long 
faces.  The  moment  that  they  were  out  in  the 
corridor  they  became  all  gaiety,  chirping  with 
laughter  and  fairly  dancing  a  "  round"  that  car- 
ried them  to  the  door  of  the  new  Mother  Supe- 
rior's cell.  Thence,  while  the  convent  bell  rang 
out  gaily,  they  escorted  Sister  Scholastica  to  the 
chapel  and  sang  a  Te  Deum  in  her  honour  and 
otherwise  gave  thanks  to  God.  Being  thus  in- 
stalled in  her  new  office,  Mother  Scholastica 
began  her  reign  by  an  act  of  grace:  to  all  the 
Sisters  she  granted  an  hour  of  recreation  in  the 
garden — and  away  they  all  went  to  work  off 
some  of  their  surplus  high  spirits  by  scampering 
about  in  the  open  air. 

Adeline  thankfully  went  into  the  garden  with 
the  others,  eager — after  her  seclusion  of  more 
than  a  week — to  be  again  in  the  blessed  sun- 
shine. But  amidst  the  gaiety  of  the  frolicsome 
Sisters  she  was  most  bitterly  sad.  She  had 
saved  herself,  she  believed,  from  worse  than 
death,  but  her  salvation  had  been  won  at  the 
cost  of  breaking  her  heart.  She  would  not  be 
defiled  by  the  foul  love  of  a  murderer,  but  the 
sacrifice  of  the  pure  love  of  her  Pascalet  was  the 
price  that  she  had  paid  for  her  deliverance.  Sit- 
ting in  a  quiet  place  apart,  she  gave  way  to  her 
cruel  sorrow.  She  longed  for  sympathy,  and 


je  JJrice  of  bictorg  343 


looked  about  her  for  Sister  Margai — who  knew 
her  trouble,  and  whose  tender  heart  was  full  of 
compassion.  Sister  Margai  was  not  in  the  gar- 
den. While  the  hour  of  sunshine  lasted,  Ade- 
line nourished  her  grief  alone. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

ASH-WEDNESDAY    EVE 

SISTER  MARGAI  was  not  in  the  garden  because 
she  was  ministering,  a  little  tardily,  to  the  wel- 
fare of  her  own  soul.  Monseigneur  had  ordered 
her  to  do  penance  for  the  lie  that  she  had  con- 
fessed to  him  by  confessing  it  also  to  whom- 
soever she  had  told  it.  The  discharge  of  that 
penance,  as  Sister  Margai  well  knew,  would  in- 
volve her,  and  instantly,  in  very  serious  trouble 
with  Mother  Dorothy.  Therefore  she  made  what 
terms  she  could  with  her  conscience  and  put  the 
matter  off.  To  her  credit  be  it  said  that  at  the 
first  possible  safe  moment — that  is  to  say,  the 
moment  that  Mother  Dorothy's  degradation  was 
accomplished — she  made  use  of  the  liberty  that 
was  hers,  as  a  lay  Sister,  to  leave  the  convent 
and  hurried  off  to  confess  her  lie  to  the  Vau- 
clairs. 

Her  confession,  coupled  with  her  statement 
that  Adeline  would  be  free  to  see  them  without 
restriction  until  she  took  the  vows,  caused  a 
whirlwind  of  happiness  in  the  little  house  in  the 
Place  du  Grand  Paradis — and  Sister  Margai  found 
her  sin  forgiven  her  because  of  her  bringing  of 
such  good  news.  Lazuli  was  quite  frantic  with 
delight.  Vauclair  was  only  a  touch  less  frantic. 
In  an  instant  they  were  bustling  into  their  best 

344 


345 


clothes.  "We  will  take  her  her  Christmas  nou- 
gat!" cried  Lazuli.  "And  we  will  tell  her," 
Vauclair  added,  "that  we  did  not  keep  Christ- 
mas because  we  thought  that  she  was  dead  !  " 
Lazuli  scraped  a  few  coins  together.  On  their 
way  to  the  convent  they  bought  the  very  best 
nougat  that  was  to  be  had  in  the  pastry-cook's 
shop  at  the  corner  of  the  Place  du  Change. 

It  was  a  tempest  of  a  meeting  that  they  all 
had  in  the  convent  parlor.  Adeline  flung  her- 
self into  Lazuli's  arms  and  cried  with  happiness 
on  that  tender  mother-heart.  Vauclair,  finding 
her  grown  to  be  a  tall  young  lady,  dignified  and 
beautiful,  felt  shyly  uncertain  whether  he  should 
address  her  with  the  formal  "you"  or  the  fa- 
miliar "thou"  —  until  he  also  found  himself 
caught  close  in  her  arms.  Clairet,  grown  to  be 
a  big  boy,  was  confused  —  and  a  little  incensed 
—  when  this  beautiful  lady  kissed  him  quite  as 
though  he  were  a  little  chap  of  only  three  or  four 
years  old.  And  when  these  kisses  and  em- 
braces were  ended,  they  immediately  were  be- 
gun all  over  again.  It  seemed  as  though  they 
never  would  have  done! 

At  last  they  were  able  to  settle  down  and  to 
talk  coherently;  and  then  Adeline  told  them  of 
the  struggle  through  which  she  had  passed  :  of 
the  machinations  of  the  Canon  Jusserand  and 
Mother  Dorothy  to  compel  her  to  marry  Calisto; 
of  the  part  that  Monseigneur  d'  Avignon  had 
taken  in  the  matter;  of  her  final  escape  from  the 
horror  that  threatened  her  by  promising  that 
in  a  fortnight's  time,  on  the  coming  Ash 
Wednesday,  she  would  take  the  veil.  And 
as  she  ended  her  story  she  flung  herself  once 


346 


more  into  Lazuli's  arms  and  sobbed  brokenly: 
"And  so  never,  never  may  I  meet  my  Pascalet 
again  !  " 

Vauclair  could  not  contain  himself.  Al- 
though the  holy  walls  of  a  convent  were  about 
him,  and  the  Blessed  Virgin's  image  in  plaster 
was  in  the  niche  close  behind  him,  and  a  picture 
of  Saint  Ursula  hung  on  the  wall  above  his  head, 
his  rage  had  to  find  vent.  "  Sacre  nom  de  pas 
Dieu!  "  he  cried.  "  I  must  rid  the  earth  of  that 
accursed  creature  !  Of  him,  and  of  that  accursed 
Canon  too!" 

"Hush!  Hush,  my  Vauclair!"  exclaimed 
Lazuli.  "What  dreadful  words  for  you  to  be 
saying  here!  " 

"Where  is  he  now,  this  Calisto?"  Vauclair 
asked  sharply,  giving  no  heed  to  Lazuli's  re- 
monstrance. 

"I  don't  know  where  he  is,"  Adeline  an- 
swered. "I  only  know  that  he  knows  where  I 
am.  In  spite  of  being  sheltered  here  behind 
bolts  and  bars,  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  him. 
I  feel  that  my  only  secure  shelter  against  him  is 
the  shelter  of  Saint  Ursula's  veil." 

"  Poor  Pascalet!  "  sighed  Lazuli. 

"  My  heart  dies  within  me  when  I  think  of 
Pascalet,"  and  Adeline,  sobbing,  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

"  Did  you  know  that  he  went  through  Avi- 
gnon while  you  were  hidden  in  the  cave  of  Cur- 
mier,  and  while  I  was  in  Malaucene?"  Lazuli 
asked. 

"No.  How  could  1  know  it?  Ah,  to  think 
that  he  was  so  near!" 

"Yes,    he    was    here,"    Lazuli    continued. 


347 


"The  neighbours  told  me  about  his  visit  to  our 
house." 

"Those  neighbours  who  were  so  cruel  to 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  sorry  now.  They  know 
now  that  they  were  wrong.  They  told  me  that 
he  came  here  with  a  battalion  on  its  way  to  join 
the  army  of  General  Bonaparte  in  Italy.  The 
battalion  was  halted  here  for  the  night.  He 
came  to  our  house  and  knocked  and  knocked, 
and  called  for  all  of  us  by  name  —  for  you,  for 
me,  for  Vauclair.  He  sat  on  our  step,  they  said, 
the  whole  night  through  —  hoping,  no  doubt, 
that  we  were  gone  somewhere  on  a  visit  and 
might  at  any  moment  return.  At  daybreak, 
when  the  drums  of  the  battalion  beat  the  as- 
sembly, they  saw  him  go  away.  Then  he  went 
on  to  Italy.  I  feel  in  my  heart  that  he  never  will 
return!  " 

"And  I  feel  in  my  heart,"  said  Adeline  very 
earnestly,  "that  he  surely  uill  return!  I  shall 
pray  to  Saint  Ursula  of  Jesus,  our  holy  patroness, 
that  I  may  have  sight  of  him  again  on  earth  — 
though  it  be  only  through  the  convent  grating 
—  and  I  am  sure,  I  am  sure,  Lazuli,  that  sweet 
Saint  Ursula  will  grant  my  prayer!"  And 
again  Adeline  wept  upon  Lazuli's  breast. 

Vauclair's  good  heart  was  full  of  pain  for 
Adeline.  As  he  could  not  think  of  anything 
comforting  to  say,  he  attempted  a  diversion. 
"Isn't  there  something  in  that  basket  of  yours, 
Lazuli?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course  there  is,"  she  answered,  per- 
ceiving his  kindly  purpose,  "and  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself  for  forgetting  it." 
23 


348  ®|)e  toljite  terror 


"You  see,"  said  Vauclair,  "we  couldn't 
keep  Christmas  last  year,  when  we  thought  that 
you  were  dead.  And  so " 

"And  so,"  Lazuli  broke  in,  "we  have 
brought  you  your  Christmas  nougat  now.  Here 
it  is — red  nougat  and  white  nougat.  It  will 
make  you  think  of  our  Christmas  Eve  in  Paris, 
in  William  the  Patriot's  house,  with  the  dear 
Planchots." 

Vauclair's  diversion  was  a  success.  Adeline, 
a  true  Provencale,  was  quick  to  smile  through 
her  tears.  "Oh,  how  good  of  you  to  think  of 
it!"  she  cried  happily.  "Come,  Clairet,"  she 
went  on,  "one  of  these  bars  is  for  you.  I 
haven't  forgotten  how  fond  you  are  of  nougat, 
you  see! " 

But  Clairet,  in  growing  to  be  a  big  boy,  had 
left  his  little  greedy  ways  behind  him.  He 
reddened  and  drew  back.  Adeline  could  not 
induce  him  to  accept  the  bar  of  nougat.  She 
had  to  keep  the  whole  of  it  for  herself. 

All  too  soon,  when  the  convent  bell  rang  for 
service,  Sister  Margai  came  to  call  Adeline  away. 
But  the  parting  was  not  a  sorrowful  one — be- 
cause the  Vauclairs  were  to  come  again,  and  as 
many  times  as  possible,  in  the  course  of  the  re- 
maining fortnight  during  which  they  would  not 
be  separated  from  her  by  iron  bars. 

When  the  visitors  had  left  the  convent,  Vau- 
clair said  shortly:  "  I  have  business  to  attend  to. 
I  am  going  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  to  the  Rue 

du  Limas "  and  so  walked  off  briskly,  leaving 

Lazuli  and  Clairet  to  go  home  alone.  Lazuli 
did  not  try  to  dissuade  him,  but  she  had  small 
hope  that  he  would  accomplish  anything. 


349 


"That  clever  scoundrel  is  on  his  guard,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  It  will  not  be  to-day,  nor  yet 
to-morrow,  that  he  falls  into  the  hands  of  the 
gendarmes!  " 

Lazuli  was  right,  as  she  was  very  apt  to  be. 
Calisto  was  safe  in  his  Chateau;  and  as  Vauclair 
turned  into  the  Rue  du  Limas  he  actually  saw  — 
without  knowing  what  he  saw  —  Canon  Jusse- 
rand's  messenger,  bearing  the  Bishop's  letter, 
starting  for  La  Vernede.  But  Vauclair  was  con- 
vinced that  the  game  that  he  was  after  was  not 
far  away;  and  he  impressed  his  conviction  so 
strongly  upon  the  Commandant  of  Gendarmes 
that  the  search  was  continued  keenly  and  widely 
from  that  time  on. 

It  was  with  a  wild  outburst  of  rage  that 
Calisto  read  the  Bishop's  letter.  But  a  letter 
from  Canon  Jusserand,  that  accompanied  it,  not 
only  quieted  his  rage  but  filled  him  with  a  fierce 
hope  again.  "If  you  still  are  determined,  in 
spite  of  all,  to  marry  the  Comtessine,"  Monsieur 
Jusserand  wrote,  "you  will  be  helped  to  ac- 
complish your  purpose.  On  the  eve  of  Ash 
Wednesday  the  convent  door  will  be  opened  to 
you,  and  the  Comtessine  will  be  delivered  into 
your  hands  to  do  with  as  you  please."  Calisto 
wanted  nothing  better  than  that!  With  Lou 
Pounchu  and  Rocofort  he  arranged  his  plans. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  line,  in  Avignon, 
Canon  Jusserand  arranged  plans  with  the  serv- 
ing-sister of  the  convent,  Sister  Dorothy.  They 
were  quite  simple.  On  the  eve  of  Ash  Wednes- 
day she  was  to  procure  and  to  give  to  him  the 
key  of  the  door,  opening  upon  the  Rue  Porte- 
Eveque,  of  the  uncloistered  apartment  in  which 


35° 


Adeline  was  housed.  Also,  the  Canon  gave 
some  useful  information  to  Lou  Pounchu  and 
Rocofort  —  when  those  worthies,  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  carnival,  wandered  masked  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  convent  and  made  themselves 
familiar  with  the  ground.  Finally,  on  the  eve 
of  the  fast,  he  confessed  Adeline  and  congratu- 
lated her  upon  the  holy  act  which  she  would 
accomplish  on  the  ensuing  day  —  and  then  re- 
ceived the  key  from  Sister  Dorothy  and  carried 
it  to  his  friends  in  waiting  outside. 

Off  in  the  Chateau  de  la  Vernede,  that  same 
afternoon,  Calisto  was  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  the  apartment  which  he  had  prepared 
for  Adeline's  reception.  It  was  a  prison,  but  he 
had  striven  to  make  it  a  beautiful  prison.  He 
had  caused  it  to  be  fitted  with  the  most  sump- 
tuous furniture  that  the  Chateau  contained,  the 
richest  carpets  and  laces  and  silks,  and  he  had 
flooded  it  with  balmy  perfumes.  Against  one 
wall  he  had  raised  a  little  altar,  adorned  with 
wax  candles  and  with  flowers,  on  which  he  had 
placed  the  silver  image  of  the  Virgin  from  the 
house  in  the  Rue  de  Bretagne  —  the  very  image 
before  which  Adeline  and  Lazuli  had  knelt  in 
prayer.  This  altar  was  his  master-stroke.  He 
had  taken  infinite  pains  to  make  perfect  its 
appointments.  Before  it  he  would  stand  with 
Adeline  while  Canon  Jusserand  performed  the 
sacrament  that  made  them  man  and  wife. 

These  preparations  being  completely  fin- 
ished, Calisto  devoted  himself  to  making  his 
own  toilet.  The  sun  still  was  high,  he  had 
ample  leisure,  and  he  was  slow  in  choosing 
among  the  elegant  garments  which  he  brought 


351 


forth  from  the  wardrobes  and  strewed  about  the 
room.  When  his  choice  at  last  was  made,  he 
brought  a  gold-stoppered  bottle  from  the  dress- 
ing table  and  scented  his  linen  delicately  with 
essence  of  jessamine.  The  subtle  perfume 
seemed  to  go  to  his  head.  His  blood  leaped 
through  his  Veins.  His  brain  seemed  to  be  on 
fire. 

The  waning  sunlight  recalled  him  to  his 
senses  a  little  and  warned  him  that  he  must 
hurry.  On  his  dressing-table,  set  in  front  of  a 
big  window  that  commanded  the  main  avenue 
leading  to  the  Chateau,  he  spread  out  his  shav- 
ing apparatus  and  the  heater  and  irons  for  curl- 
ing his  hair.  He  lathered  his  face,  and  shaved 
the  half  of  it  carefully  —  but  the  other  half  of  his 
face  did  not  get  shaved  that  day!  As  he  read- 
justed himself  before  the  mirror  he  chanced  to 
glance  out  of  the  window.  Down  at  the  far 
end  of  the  avenue  he  saw  a  sight  which  made 
him  drop  his  razor  in  a  hurry,  with  a  shrill  cry 
of  fear.  Coming  up  the  avenue  at  a  gallop  was 
a  squad  of  mounted  gendarmes! 

There  was  not  an  instant  for  him  to  lose. 
Just  as  he  was  —  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with  one 
half  of  his  face  covered  with  lather  —  he  bolted. 
Racing  down  a  back  stair,  through  the  offices 
of  the  Chateau  and  thence  through  the  chicken- 
yard,  he  gained  the  forest.  The  gendarmes 
turned  the  whole  place  upside  down,  and  had 
a  regular  battue  in  the  forest  afterward.  But 
they  did  not  find  their  game! 

While  the  gendarmes  searched  vainly  for 
Calisto  in  the  forest  round  about  Aramon,  cer- 


35 2  ®b*  iDIjite  terror 

tain  of  his  friends  waited  for  him  vainly  in 
Avignon. 

Night  had  come,  and  everybody  was  in 
readiness  for  the  abduction  of  Adeline  save  the 
abductor  in  chief.  Lou  Pounchu  and  Rocofort, 
wearing  the  masks  and  dominos  of  the  Carni- 
val, were  at  their  post  beside  the  door  on  the 
Rue  Porte-Eveque,  key  in  hand.  Near  by,  in 
the  shadow  cast  by  the  ramparts,  was  a  close 
carriage  drawn  by  swift  horses — all  in  order  to 
go  galloping  off  through  the  moonlit  night  to 
La  Vernede.  Inside  the  carriage  was  Canon 
Jusserand,  ready  to  perform  the  marriage  cere- 
mony when  they  should  be  come  to  the  Chateau. 

As  the  time  slipped  away,  and  still  Calisto 
came  not,  the  Canon's  emotions  underwent  a 
series  of  disagreeable  changes — shifting  from 
pleased  anticipation  to  nervousness,  from  nerv- 
ousness to  anger,  and  from  anger  to  a  lively 
alarm.  As  for  Lou  Pounchu  and  Rocofort,  the 
comments  which  they  passed  in  whispers  upon 
the  situation  became  constantly  of  a  more  and 
more  lurid  and  vigorous  sort.  All  three  of  them 
realized  that  some  untoward  accident  must  have 
intervened  to  disarrange  their  carefully  concerted 
plan ;  and  they  all  knew  that  unless  this  acci- 
dent should  be  set  right  very  quickly  their  plan 
must  fail.  A  main  factor  in  their  chances  of 
success  was  the  disorder  of  the  last  night  of  the 
Carnival — when  the  city  was  gaily  turbulent; 
and  when  the  city  gates,  carelessly  guarded, 
were  open  until  unusual  hours.  When  quiet 
came,  and  when  the  gates  were  closed,  they 
could  do  nothing.  Quiet  came  all  too  quickly 
for  them.  The  rattle  of  drums,  beating  the 


353 


lively  measure  of  the  farandole,  grew  less  and 
less;  the  roar  of  voices  diminished  as  the  faran- 
dolers  grew  weary  and  went  home  to  bed. 
Now  and  again  would  come  an  outburst  from 
some  belated  company  of  revellers,  reeling 
through  one  of  the  near-by  streets,  chanting  the 
dirge  of  Carmentran: 

Good-bye,  poor  soul! 
Good-bye,  poor  soul! 
Good-bye,  poor  Carmentran  ! 

Before  long  even  these  scattered  noises  ceased. 
The  only  sound  that  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
night  was  the  gurgle  of  the  dark  waters  of  the 
Sorgue  —  which  came  out  from  a  black  archway 
beneath  the  houses  on  the  Rue  Calade,  ran  in 
an  open  canal  along  the  middle  of  the  Rue  An- 
nanelle,  and  passed  out  through  an  archway 
beneath  the  ramparts  to  the  Rhone.  A  foul 
stench  came  up  from  the  canal  through  which 
these  foul  waters  ran.  All  manner  of  vileness 
was  there,  including  the  dead  bodies  of  ani- 
mals. Not  seldom  the  bodies  of  human  beings 
were  found  there  too  —  hacked  to  pieces  beyond 
recognition.  Murderers  had  a  liking  for  the 
Sorgue. 

Canon  Jusserand  knew  that  farther  waiting 
was  useless;  that  the  night  was  too  far  ad- 
vanced to  permit  the  execution  of  their  project, 
even  though  Calisto  still  should  come.  Very 
sorrowfully  he  leaned  out  from  the  window  of 
the  carriage  and  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive 
away.  The  coachman  had  risen  to  his  feet  and 
was  staring  hard  at  the  archway  through  which 
the  Sorgue  passed  beneath  the  ramparts.  The 


354  ®lje  tOljite  terror 

Canon  also  looked  down  at  the  archway,  and 
saw  two  men  there  pushing  at  something  with 
poles.  "Are  they  murderers?"  he  asked  in  a 
low  tone,  while  a  shiver  ran  through  him. 

"Smugglers,  more  likely,  Monsieur — trying 
to  bring  in  a  barrel  of  brandy." 

"Equally  sinners!"  responded  the  Canon, 
who  had  a  great  respect  for  the  law.  "  We  will 
wait  no  longer,"  he  added.  "  Drive  home!  " 

As  the  carriage  drove  away,  Lou  Pounchu 
and  Rocofort  sulkily  following  it,  the  convent 
bell  rang  matins — pealing  forth  sweetly*  joy- 
fully, triumphantly,  upon  the  stillness  of  the 
moonlit  night. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE   VEIL   OF   SAINT   URSULA 

AT  daybreak  the  bell  rang  gladly  again,  and 
then  began  within  the  convent  a  bustle  of  prep- 
aration for  the  Ash-Wednesday  services  and  for 
the  reception  into  the  community  of  a  new  Sis- 
ter. Later,  the  bustle  within  had  its  counter- 
part in  a  stir  without.  A  bevy  of  gay  young 
girls  came  with  a  big  basket  containing  a  muslin 
gown  and  a  flowing  veil  of  tulle,  all  white  as 
the  snow  on  Mont  Ventour.  After  them  came 
the  pastry-cook  from  the  Place  du  Change, 
bringing  two  great  bags  of  sugared  almonds — 
such  as  are  thrown  to  the  crowd  at  weddings 
in  Provence.  A  group,  that  increased  in  num- 
bers rapidly,  assembled  in  waiting  for  the  chapel 
door  to  be  opened.  In  the  front  rank  were 
Lazuli  and  Vauclair  and  Clairet  in  their  Sunday 
clothes.  They  were  the  very  first  to  come; 
and  it  was  well  that  they  came  early,  for  five 
minutes  after  the  door  was  opened  the  nave  of 
the  chapel  was  crammed  full.  Then  came 
priests,  canons,  monks,  abbes,  and  a  company 
of  little  choir-boys  in  their  little  purple  capes 
and  their  white  albs.  The  chapel  was  like  a 
hive  of  bees! 

At  last,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  prodi- 
gious ringing  of  the  convent  bell,  came  his  Lord- 

355 


356  ®he  tObite  terror 

ship  the  Bishop  of  Avignon.  The  gorgeous 
beadle  struck  his  halberd  three  times  on  the 
stone  pavement,  the  congregation  knelt  to  re- 
ceive the  Episcopal  blessing.  Almost  before 
they  knew  it,  this  part  of  the  ceremonies  was 
over — for  the  Lord  Bishop,  thin  and  nimble, 
went  up  the  nave  at  such  a  rate  that  his  pursy 
Vicar  General  could  not  keep  pace  with  him ; 
and  he  scattered  his  blessings  to  left  and  to  right 
so  briskly  that  they  went  flying  about  like  little 
birds!  Truly,  Monseigneur  Esteve  was  not  a 
show  bishop,  puffed  up  with  pride  in  his  own 
dignity.  Good  man  that  he  was,  he  followed 
humbly  in  the  steps  of  the  Apostles.  In  his  See 
of  Avignon  he  was  just  what  he  had  been  in 
his  little  parish  in  the  Var — where  half  the  time 
he  had  to  ring  his  own  bell  for  the  mass,  and  to 
light  his  own  altar  candles,  and  to  take  a  hand 
in  bearing  the  dead  to  their  graves.  In  a  twink- 
ling he  was  at  the  altar,  robed  and  mitred,  and 
was  intoning  the  Magnificat. 

As  the  incense  arose  in  a  sweet-smelling 
cloud  there  was  a  little  stir  and  rustle  at  the 
grating  and  the  black  curtain  was  drawn  aside. 
Behind  it,  surrounded  by  the  black-robed  nuns, 
stood  Adeline— radiant  as  the  sun.  In  her  white 
wedding  dress,  under  her  shimmering  white 
veil,  she  was  as  lovely  as  Our  Lady  of  Grace! 

Throughout  the  chapel  there  was  a  stir. 
Every  one  turned  to  look  at  her.  A  fluttering 
sigh  of  admiration  arose  from  the  gazing  crowd. 
Lazuli — although  close  to  the  grating,  the  closest 
of  all  to  her — could  not  see  her  clearly,  for  La- 
zuli's  eyes  were  dim  with  tears.  Even  Vauclair, 
the  mustachioed  sergeant  who  had  done  his  gal- 


ffilje  i)dl  of  Saint  Ursttla 


357 


lant  share  of  fighting,  had  a  great  lump  in  his 
throat  and  was  wiping  his  eyes  with  the  back 
of  his  hand. 

Monseigneur,  candle  in  hand,  advanced  from 
the  altar  to  the  wicket  in  the  grating  and  there 
recited  the  prayers  for  the  ordination.  Adeline 
stood  before  him  tall  and  beautiful,  and  then 
knelt  humbly  as  he  put  his  stole  upon  her  head. 
Her  sweet  voice  sounded  clearly  through  the 
chapel  as  she  answered  "Amen!" 

The  convent  bell  had  been  ringing  blithely. 
The  ringing  ceased.  Then,  instead  of  its  gay 
carillon,  the  bell  tolled  dismally.  At  that  instant 
the  Lord  Bishop  tore  away  the  white  veil  and 
the  crown  of  white  flowers  from  Adeline's  head 
and  threw  tbem  aside.  From  a  silver  plate  held 
by  one  of  his  attendants  he  took  a  pair  of  iron 
scissors  and  severed  quickly,  at  the  level  of  her 
shoulders,  the  two  long  plaits  of  her  golden 
hair.  As  she  heard  the  crisp  sound  of  cutting 
she  uttered  a  deep  sigh  and  sank  almost  fainting/ 
upon  her  knees.  The  stillness  in  the  chapel' 
was  broken  by  a  choking  sob  from  Lazuli,  who 
was  kneeling,  utterly  grief-stricken,  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands.  Vauclair  knelt  beside  her 
— not  since  his  first  communion  had  he  been 
upon  his  knees — weeping  silently.  In  the  choir 
arose  the  chant  of  the  miserere.  To  the  sound 
of  its  desolate  lament  the  black  curtain  behind 
the  grating  was  drawn.  Monseigneur  returned 
to  the  altar.  The  mass  went  on. 

Little  attention  was  given  to  the  mass.  Every 
one  was  waiting  with  unconcealed  eagerness  for 
the  black  curtain  to  be  again  drawn  aside.  La- 
zuli and  Vauclair  could  not  take  their  eyes  from 


358  ®bc  tDI)ite  terror 

the  grating.  Their  hearts  were  breaking  with 
the  thought  that  when  they  saw  Adeline  again, 
in  only  a  few  moments  more,  she  would  be 
clad  as  a  professed  nun — separated  forever  from 
the  world ! 

Clairet,  being  but  a  child,  did  not  take  the 
matter  seriously.  He  had  cried  a  little,  partly 
because  he  did  not  like  to  see  Adeline  shut  be- 
hind a  grating,  but  more  because  his  father  and 
mother  were  crying  and  he  was  for  keeping 
them  company.  But  his  eyes  dried  as  he 
watched  the  conduct  of  the  mass,  and  with 
most  interest  the  part  that  the  choir-boys  took 
in  it.  To  be  a  choir-boy  must  be  very  delight- 
ful, he  thought — to  wear  a  purple  robe,  and 
lace,  and  a  red  cap !  And  what  fun  it  must  be 
to  swing  a  censer  and  send  the  sweet-smelling 
smoke  flying  all  around!  Oh,  he  would  like 
that  best  of  all ! 

Once  more  the  convent  bell  rang  out  joy- 
fully. To  its  glad  sound  the  black  curtain  was 
drawn  back  disclosing  Adeline  standing  at  the 
wicket  in  the  grating  habited  as  a  nun.  Very 
lovely  was  her  beautiful  face  under  the  fine  white 
woollen  veil,  across  her  forehead  a  starched  linen 
band;  and  the  grace  of  her  tall  form  was  not 
lost  wholly  beneath  the  black  robe.  Beside 
her  stood  Mother  Scholastica  and  Sister  Margai, 
whom  she  had  chosen  to  bear  her  company  at 
her  first  communion  in  Saint  Ursula's  holy  garb. 
When  she  and  they  had  partaken,  the  office  be- 
ing celebrated  by  the  Lord  Bishop,  the  others 
followed  until  all  had  communed. 

All  save  one!  One  nun,  hidden  in  a  corner, 
thrilling  with  a  hopeless  shame,  dared  not  ap- 


&l)e  foil  0f  Saint  Hrsula  359 

proach  the  holy  table.  It  was  Sister  Dorothy — 
who  all  night  long  had  waited  impatiently  for 
Calisto's  coming,  that  she  might  give  into  his 
blood-stained  hands  this  pure  lily  which  now, 
by  God's  grace  delivered  from  him,  bloomed 
securely  in  the  walled  garden  of  the  Lord! 

When  the  ceremony  was  over,  when  Mon- 
seigneur  and  his  attendants  had  partaken  of  the 
collation  served  to  them  by  Sister  Margai  and 
had  departed,  when  the  crowd  had  left  the 
chapel,  the  Vauclairs  still  lingered:  for  them 
there  still  was  something  more  to  do.  Going 
to  the  great  door  of  the  convent,  they  passed  to 
the  parlour  and  there  waited  for  Adeline's  com- 
ing— that  they  might  be  the  first,  after  those 
who  were  become  her  sisters,  to  give  her  words 
of  loving  cheer.  It  was  the  same  room  in  which 
so  often  they  had  talked  with  her,  but  this  time 
she  could  not  come  close  to  them  and  be  clasped 
in  their  arms.  When  she  appeared,  clad  in  her 
habit,  the  double  grating  was  between  them. 
With  their  arms  extended  to  the  utmost,  they 
barely  could  touch  each  others'  hands. 

For  some  moments  none  of  them  could 
speak.  Their  hearts  were  very  full;  and,  in 
addition  to  her  deep  feeling,  Adeline  felt  a  curious 
shyness  as  she  stood  before  her  friends  in  a  dress 
so  strange  to  herself  and  to  them.  Lazuli  per- 
ceived this  shyness,  and  dealt  with  it  in  a 
womanly  way.  "  What  a  charming  nun,"  she 
cried.  "  Never  would  I  have  believed  that  the 
robe  of  Saint  Ursula  could  be  so  becoming  to 
you!  " 

"  Really  ?  "  exclaimed  Adeline  joyfully. 

"Really!"  Lazuli  answered.     "If  only  you 


360  ®t)£  tOfyite  terror 

could  see  yourself  you  would  see  how  perfectly 
charming  you  are!"" 

Adeline  was  smiling  with  pleasure.  "Is  it 
really  the  truth  that  she  is  telling  me,  Vauclair  ?" 
she  asked. 

Vauclair  could  not  speak  easily.  The  lump 
was  in  his  throat  again.  He  gave  a  gulp  and 
answered:  ''She  is  telling  you  the  truth, 
Madame.  You  are  as  lovely  as  ever.  No  one 
could  be  more  beautiful  than  you  are! " 

"  Oh  Vauclair,  how  can  you  speak  to  me  so 
formally  ?  Why  do  you  call  me  '  Madame  '  ? 
Am  I  not  always  your  Adeline — your  own 
child  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Lazuli,  "you  are  indeed 
our  own  child — as  much  our  own  child  as  Clai- 
ret,  here,  or  Pascalet." 

The  smile  faded  from  Adeline's  face  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  ' '  Oh  Pascalet !  Pascalet ! " 
she  exclaimed.  "What  would  he  say  could  he 
see  me  a  nun!  But  oh,  Father  in  heaven,  for- 
give me  for  speaking  his  name!  Never  more 
may  I  think  of  him — save  in  my  prayers.  For 
him  I  may  pray  to  my  sweet  Saint  Christ — that 
He  will  guard'him  from  the  perils  of  war,  that 
He  will  bring  him  home  in  safety  to  gladden  his 
old  mother's  heart!" 

"Come,  come,"  said  Vauclair.  "Before 
long  he'll  be  back  again  from  the  wars,  safe  and 
sound.  And  then  I'll  bring  him  here  to  see  you. 
For  that  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Ahem!  "  came  a  little  short  dry  cough  that 
made  them  all  start.  It  came  from  behind  the 
curtain,  and  was  uttered  by  an  old  and  rather 
particular  nun  whose  business  it  was  to  keep  the 


t)dl  of  Saint  Ursula  361 


talk  between  the  Sisters  and  their  visitors  within 
due  bounds. 

Adeline  understood  the  signal  and  blushed  a 
little.  Crushing  down  the  pain  that  was  in  her 
heart,  she  changed  the  subject  by  saying  to 
Clairet:  "And  you  also,  Clairet,  must  come  to 
see  me  when  the  others  come." 

"  Yes,  Madame,"  Clairet  answered,  speaking 
shyly  and  with  downcast  eyes. 

"What,  '  Madame  '  from  you  too?  Why, 
Clairet,  I'm  your  sister — your  sister  Adeline. 
You  must  not  call  me  'Madame'!"  Her  heart 
was  wrenched  as  she  realized  how  these  her 
dear  friends,  whom  she  loved  so  tenderly,  sud- 
denly seemed  to  be  far  away  from  her — and  at 
the  very  moment  when  she  needed  most  their 
close  affection  and  support.  By  a  quick  impulse 
she  grasped  the  grating  as  though  she  would 
tear  it  away!  In  a  moment  she  had  conquered 
herself  and  was  calm  again. 

As  Clairet  was  too  shy  to  answer  her,  she 
continued:  "  You  must  not  be  afraid  of  me,  my 
Clairet.  Come,  look  at  me!  And,  see!  Even 
if  you  have  grown  to  be  a  big  boy  I  am  sure  that 
you  still  like  nice  things,  and  I  have  some  for 
you.  To-day  is  the  great  festival  of  my  life. 
To-day  I  take  the  veil  that  marries  me  to  Jesus ! " 
Her  voice  broke  into  a  sob  and  she  trembled. 
Again  she  steadied  herself,  and  added — while 
she  searched  in  her  unfamiliar  dress  for  her 
pocket:  "You  must  have  some  of  the  sugared 
almonds  that  are  a  part  of  my  wedding  feast. 
Ah,  here  they  are.  I  brought  them  on  purpose 
for  you."  As  she  spoke,  she  drew  from  her 
pocket  a  packet  tied  daintily  with  white  and 


362  STlje  tttyite  terror 

blue  ribbons  and  handed  it  to  Clairet  through 
the  bars. 

"Benedicamus  Domino"  came  in  a  low 
voice  from  behind  the  curtain.  It  was  the  sig- 
nal that  the  interview  must  end. 

"  Deo  gratias,"  Adeline  answered  obediently. 

Her  hand,  outstretched  through  the  grating, 
met  and  pressed  each  of  their  outstretched  hands 
in  turn.  "Adessias!"  she  said.  "Adessias!" 
they  answered.  And  so  she  left  them. 

While  they  could  hear  the  clicking  of  her 
rosary  and  the  sound  of  her  retreating  footsteps, 
they  stood  listening  in  sad  silence.  Then,  still 
with  hearts  too  full  for  speech,  they  went  home- 
ward to  the  Place  du  Grand  Paradis. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

SLOW-PASSING    YEARS 

SISTER  ADELINE  took  up  the  burden  of  her 
convent  life  and  bore  it  bravely.  She  who,  as 
a  child,  had  shared  her  bread  with  little  Pascalet, 
was  filled  with  a  sweet  spirit  of  charity — that 
made  her  zealous  to  serve  with  her  whole 
strength  and  eager  to  minister  to  the  happiness 
of  those  about  her.  She  did  her  share,  and 
more  than  her  share,  of  the  convent  work;  she 
nursed  tenderly  the  sick ;  even  to  Sister  Dorothy, 
at  her  rough  toil  in  the  kitchen,  she  lent  a  help- 
ing hand.  In  her  seemed  to  live  again  Saint 
Ursula's  spirit  of  helpfulness  and  self-sacrifice. 

Her  one  concession  to  herself  was  her  half 
hour,  each  Sunday,  with  the  Vauclairs.  Never 
did  they  fail  to  come  to  her,  bringing  always 
some  little  gift — a  melon,  a  big  pear,  a  bunch  of 
grapes — that  was  not  a  trilling  gift  because  it  was 
charged  with  their  love.  The  visits  of  these 
dear  friends  gave  her  a  deep  happiness,  and  a 
deeper  happiness  because  she  could  talk  with 
them  about  Pascalet.  Always  they  spoke  of 
him  cheerfully — of  his  coming  back  to  Avignon 
a  tall  and  gallant  mustachioed  soldier  whom  at 
first  sight  they  would  not  know.  But  always 
with  their  cheerful  talk  went  an  undercurrent 
of  doubt  and  dread — as  they  thought  of  what 
24  363 


364  ®l)e  fcOtjite  Serror 

might  have  happened  to  him  among  the  many 
evil  chances  of  war.  These  talks, independently 
of  the  boding  thoughts  that  went  with  them, 
left  Adeline  with  a  soul  so  disturbed — so  thrill- 
ing with  hopeless  memories  and  with  still  more 
hopeless  longings — that  she  could  win  her  way 
to  calm  again  only  by  earnest  beseeching  in 
prayer.  Always  her  prayers  ended,  as  did  those 
which  she  said  night  and  morning,  with  the 
appeal:  "Sweet  Saint  Ursula,  quench  the  fire 
that  burns  my  poor  heart,  but  grant  that  once 
more  1  may  see  him  before  I  die! " 

For  the  dwellers  in  the  outer  world  in  that 
stirring  epoch  time  passed  quickly;  but  for 
Sister  Adeline,  shut  in  her  convent,  striving 
always  to  keep  a  dead  hope  buried  in  its  grave, 
the  march  of  those  great  years  was  despairingly 
slow.  And  with  their  lingering  weariness  was 
pain.  Every  time  that  the  bells  of  Avignon 
rang  out  for  a  fresh  victory,  and  they  rang  often, 
the  hope  arose  in  her  heart  that  they  were  ring- 
ing for  peace — and  so  for  her  Pascalet's  home- 
coming. Always  this  hope  was  false.  As  it 
perished,  always  would  come  the  cruel  under- 
thought:  "  Perhaps  in  that  great  battle  he  was 
killed!" 

But  Pascalet  was  not  killed.  As  a  grenadier 
of  the  Guard  his  old  luck  stood  by  him  and  the 
bullets  did  him  no  harm.  With  the  army  of 
Bonaparte  he  marched  triumphant,  as  he  had 
marched  with  the  army  of  the  Republic ;  in  his 
breast  burned  always  the  flame  for  Liberty, 
Equality,  Fraternity;  his  strong  arm  helped  to 
carry  forward  the  tri-colour,  and  with  it  the 
Banner  of  the  Rights  of  Man;  his  voice  in  battle 


|3eats  365 


rang  out  the  "Marseillaise."  He  did  not  forget 
his  Adeline.  She  had  his  heart  —  but  his  honour 
bade  him  stand  fast  by  the  colours  of  France. 
Where  the  French  flag  went,  he  went:  over 
the  snowy  steeps  of  Mont  Saint  Bernard,  across 
the  bridge  of  Arcola,  through  the  burning  heat 
of  the  Egyptian  desert;  then  back  to  Europe 
again,  in  time  to  plant  the  tri-colour  on  the  bell- 
tower  of  Marengo  at  the  cost  of  a  desperate 
sabre-slash  across  his  forehead  ;  then  to  Austria 
—  where  he,  who  had  danced  on  the  day  that 
the  Tuileries  were  stormed  in  the  bed-chamber 
of  the  Austrian  woman,  boiled  his  bit  of  meat 
in  Vienna  beneath  the  walls  of  the  Imperial 
palace;  and  so  onward  to  the  heroic  day  of 
Austerlitz  —  when  the  shadow  cast  by  the  Great 
Army  of  France  extended  from  the  olive-orchards 
of  Italy  in  the  South  to  the  pine-grown  slopes 
of  the  Urals  in  the  frozen  North  ! 

And  while  he  marched  triumphant  the  bells 
of  Avignon  rang  out  for  the  victories  that  he 
helped  to  win  —  and  in  an  Avignon  convent  one 
in  sore  trouble  prayed:  "Sweet  Saint  Ursula, 
quench  the  fire  that  burns  my  poor  heart,  but 
grant  that  once  more  I  may  see  him  before  I 
die!  " 

As  Adeline  bent  over  her  work,  in  the  hours 
of  silence,  often  did  she  neglect  to  recite  to  her- 
self her  rosary  —  while  her  thoughts  wandered 
far  afield  to  Pascalet,  trying  to  picture  him  in 
her  mind.  Could  she  have  made  her  picture 
true  to  life  she  would  have  been  well  pleased 
with  it.  Her  little  Pascalet  had  grown  to  be 
tall  and  strong,  as  strong  as  an  ash  tree  on  the 
flanks  of  Mont  Ventour.  His  face,  bronzed  by 


366  ®t)e  totjite  terror 

the  sun  of  Egypt,  had  become  resolute ;  and  the 
more  resolute  because  of  the  gallant  scar  across 
his  brow.  His  clear  honest  black  eyes  shone 
with  dancing  specks  of  gold.  His  curly  mus- 
tache had  grown  bravely,  hiding  his  laughing 
red  lips.  Two  long  tresses  of  dark  hair  hung 
down  at  the  sides  of  his  face  to  his  shoulders. 
In  a  word,  he  had  become  the  very  handsomest 
soldier  in  the  Emperor's  Guard!  It  was  not 
surprising,  when  he  served  in  Spain,  that  the 
maidens  of  Zaragoza  smiled  upon  him  as  he 
passed  beneath  their  balconies ;  that  they  took 
the  rosebuds  from  between  their  lips  and  threw 
them  to  him  with  a  kiss! 

But  Adeline  could  not  create  a  true  picture 
of  him  in  her  mind;  and  to  create  any  picture 
of  him  that  at  all  satisfied  her  grew  more  and 
more  difficult  as  the  months  and  the  years  went 
by  with  a  leaden  slowness — while  the  storm  of 
victory  tossed  him  hither  and  thither  about  Eu- 
rope, but  never  toward  his  home. 

In  that  great  time  the  armies  of  France, 
which  had  been  the  soul  of  the  Revolution, 
went  and  came  from  one  end  of  the  continent 
to  the  other — from  the  Rhine  to  the  Danube, 
from  the  Danube  to  the  Guadalquivir — turning 
up  the  old  world  as  the  soil  is  turned  up  by  the 
ploughman  as  he  ploughs  among  the  vines.  In 
a  single  year  Napoleon's  white  horse  quenched 
his  thirst  in  the  grey  waters  of  the  Spree,  in  the 
muddy  waters  of  the  Danube,  in  the  sparklingly 
clear  waters  of  the  Ebro ! 

When  Napoleon's  gigantic  task  was  accom- 
plished, when  the  last  cannon  had  thundered, 
when  the  last  spark  had  flashed  from  the  sabres 


Sloro-jwssing  Wears  367 

of  the  French  cavalry,  the  Corsican  Emperor — 
whose  soul  was  that  of  a  corsair — still  was 
unsatisfied.  Seated  upon  his  white  horse,  he 
looked  for  an  enemy  to  crush,  for  a  capital  to 
seize,  for  a  crown  to  strike  off.  But  before  him 
and  behind  him  and  around  him  was  only  a 
level  plain.  From  the  west  to  the  east  the  har- 
vest was  complete.  Everywhere,  duly  bound 
and  set  in  order,  lay  the  reaped  sheaves.  Be- 
hind his  white  horse  crouched  dukes,  arch- 
dukes, princes,  kings,  emperors,  even  he  who 
wore  the  triple  tiara — and  his  white  horse 
switched  their  faces  with  his  tail.  In  his  saddle- 
bags were  the  fourteen  sceptres  of  those  who 
had  been  kings! 

Then  it  was  that  he,  the  son  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, he  who  had  been  the  friend  of  Robespierre, 
felt  shame  of  his  own  origin  and  turned  traitor. 
Then  it  was  that  he  took  in  marriage  the  daugh- 
ter of  one  of  his  conquered  emperors;  that  upon 
France — the  France  of  the  Revolution  that  had 
dealt  justice  to  Marie  Antoinette — he  imposed 
Marie  Louise,  another  Austrian  of  the  tyrant 
brood,  as  Empress! 

From  that  time  onward  the  Great  Armv  of 
France,  the  army,  stern  and  terrible,  born  of  the 
Republic  of  1792,  the  army  of  Valmy  and  Je- 
mappes — no  longer  fought  for  Liberty,  for  Equal- 
ity, for  Fraternity ;  no  longer  bore  through  the 
world  the  Banner  of  the  Rights  of  Man.  From 
that  time  onward  the  Great  Army  of  France  was 
to  defend  beneath  the  tri-colour  all  the  bare- 
footed tramps  who  had  become  barons  and 
dukes  and  princes;  and,  alas!  grown  drunk 
with  the  fumes  of  victory  and  blinded  by  the 


368  ®1)<>  lDI)itc  terror 

rays  of  glory,  that  army  which  had  crushed  a 
king-tyrant  was  to  perish  for  an  emperor- 
tyrant! 

Into  the  huge  maelstrom  of  fighting  the 
youth  of  France  was  carried  down.  Levees  en 
masse  came  again  and  again,  calling  to  the  col- 
ours even  lads  of  no  more  than  sixteen  years. 
Clairet  did  not  wait  for  the  conscription.  A 
brave  boy  and  a  good  patriot,  as  his  father  had 
been  before  him,  he  was  eager  to  pay  his  blood- 
debt  to  his  mother-land.  When  the  force  was 
massing  for  the  campaign  in  Russia,  off  he  went 
as  a  volunteer.  And  then,  presently,  the  bells 
of  Avignon  rang  for  new  victories — for  Smo- 
lensk, where  Marshal  Ney,  the  son  of  a  cooper, 
became  a  prince;  a  little  later  for  the  fall  of  Mos- 
cow. 

In  those  days  the  Vauclairs  were  sad-hearted 
when  they  paid  their  Sunday  visits  to  Adeline, 
and  they  were  less  ready  to  talk  about  Pascalet 
than  about  their  own  boy — far  away  in  that 
Russia  so  cruelly  cold.  But  one  Sunday  when 
they  came  to  her — not  a  very  long  while  after 
the  Moscow  victory  had  been  celebrated — they 
had  little  to  say  even  about  Clairet,  so  full  were 
they  of  matters  of  importance  close  at  home. 

What  had  happened  no  one  seemed  to  know 
certainly;  but  it  was  quite  certain  that  rumours 
of  disaster  to  the  French  army  were  flying  about 
thickly,  and  that  on  the  strength  of  these  ru- 
mours the  Whites  were  showing  themselves  as 
they  had  not  shown  themselves  for  years.  The 
next  day  Adeline  had  further  evidence  that  the 
order  of  things  was  changing.  Canon  Jusserand. 
who  for  a  very  long  time  had  not  entered  the  con- 


Sloro-jiaesing  tkars  369 


vent,  paid  a  visit  of  full  two  hours  to  Sister  Dor- 
othy— and  went  away  with  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion on  his  old  face,  as  though  he  had  been  im- 
parting to  her  information  of  an  exceptionally 
pleasing  sort.  That  night  the  nuns  heard  a 
great  shouting  in  the  streets  of  "Down  with 
the  Blues!  Long  live  the  King!  " 


CHAPTER  XL 

ONCE   MORE   WHITE   TERROR   REIGNS 

EVEN  in  her  convent  shelter  Adeline  felt  the 
eddying  of  the  whirlwind  that  then  was  loosed 
upon  France:  that  brought  into  the  land  con- 
quering foreign  armies,  that  crushed  the  tyrant 
Emperor,  that  raised  the  tyrant  King  to  the 
throne  once  more,  that  cast  him  down  again, 
that  brought  back  the  Emperor  for  the  Hundred 
Days.  These  great  events  which  convulsed 
France  with  passion  had  their  passionate  echo 
in  Avignon.  In  Avignon  the  Whites  once  more 

fained  the  ascendency,  and  once  more  White 
error  reigned ! 

News  of  these  great  happenings  the  Vau- 
clairs  brought  to  Adeline  when  they  paid  her 
their  weekly  visits.  Suddenly — this  was  after 
the  Hundred  Days  began — their  visits  stopped, 
and  a  quick  thrill  of  dread  for  their  safety  came 
into  her  heart.  When  a  second  Sunday  passed 
without  their  coming  to  her,  her  anxiety  was 
more  than  she  could  bear.  She  besought  Sister 
Margai,  the  lay  Sister  who  was  free  to  go  out 
from  the  convent,  to  get  news  for  her  of  these 
her  friends;  and  Sister  Margai — well  knowing 
that  the  rules  of  the  Order  expressly  forbade 
such  service,  and  that  in  doing  it  she  fell  into 
sin — consented  to  Adeline's  request.  "Saint 
370 


0>nce  more  tOI)ite  terror  fteigus      371 

Ursula  will  forgive  me,"  she  said   to   herself, 
"and  the  confessional  will  clear  my  sin  away." 

When  she  was  come  back  again  from  her 
mission— that  was  accomplished  while  she  was 
supposed  to  be  doing  the  convent  marketing — 
the  look  on  her  face  told  that  she  brought  black 
news.  Breaking  still  another  rule  of  the  Order, 
Adeline  drew  her  within  her  cell  and  bolted  the 
door.  "What  has  happened?"  she  asked 
eagerly,  but  with  a  thrill  of  fear  in  her  tone. 

1  "Dreadful  things  have  happened!"  Sister 
Margai  answered.  ' '  The  Whites  are  farandoling 
away  all  over  the  city.  The  windows  and  bal- 
conies are  full  of  white  flags.  All  the  poor  Reds, 
all  the  poor  soldiers  coming  back  home  from 
the  wars,  are  being  murdered !  "  Great  drops  of 
sweat  were  on  her  forehead.  She  was  very 
pale.  She  paused  for  a  moment  to  fan  herself 
with  her  apron.  Then  she  added:  "Oh  poor 
Lazuli!  Oh  poor  Vauclair!" 

Adeline  also  was  very  pale.  "What  has 
happened  to  them?"  she  asked.  "Did  you 
see  them  ?  Answer  me,  Sister  Margai.  An- 
swer me  quickly!  " 

"No,  I  did  not  see  them.  Their  house  is 
locked  up  and  deserted.  I  knocked,  but  no  one 
came.  And  then,  as  I  was  corning  away — back 
through  the  Place  des  Grands  Carmes — I  saw 
something  that  was  terrible.  First  I  heard  what 
sounded  like  the  shrieks  of  women  and  children. 
Then  I  saw  a  lot  of  men  running,  carrying  the 
white  flag.  Then  I  saw— oh  God  in  heaven ! — 
a  crowd  that  filled  the  whole  width  of  the  street: 
men  foaming  at  the  mouth,  yelling  and  howling, 
their  eyes  starting  out  of  their  heads.  Some  of 


37 2  ®1)*  tObite  terror 

them  were  dragging  something  along  on  the 
ground,  and  others  of  them  were  beating  that 
dragged  thing  with  clubs.  They  came  on, 
straight  toward  me,  and  I  was  shoved  on  one 
side  and  pushed  against  the  wall.  Then  I  saw 
the  awful  thing  that  they  were  doing.  They 
were  dragging  along  the  body  of  a  dead  soldier 
— a  soldier  they  had  killed  in  the  Porte  Saint- 
Lazare,  just  as  the  poor  innocent  was  coming 
into  the  city.  The  body  was  being  knocked 
out  of  all  shape  as  they  hammered  at  it  with 
their  clubs.  Along  where  it  passed  it  left  a 
trail  of  blood.  As  they  beat  it  they  yelled  '  To 
the  Rhone!  To  the  Rhone!'  And  then  they 
began  to  shout:  'To  the  Place  du  Grand  Para- 
dis!'  A  gentleman  seemed  to  be  leading  them 
— a  gentleman  dressed  in  a  fine  blue  coat  with 
lace  cuffs  and  carrying  a  yellow  cane  with  a  sil- 
ver handle.  He  shouted,  and  the  crowd  of  mur- 
derers shouted  after  him :  '  Long  live  the  King! ' 

"After  they  had  passed,  and  I  was  standing 
there  shaking  like  a  reed,  there  came  hobbling 
along  a  horrible  little  old  lame  woman.  '  Aha, 
did  you  see  him  ? '  she  said  with  a  chuckle  that 
froze  my  blood.  '  That's  the  way  they're  all  to 
go — every  one  of  them,  every  single  one !  We'll 
revenge  our  good  King! ' 

"  '  Who  was  it  ?'  1  asked,  all  in  a  tremble. 

"'Don't  you  know?'  said  she.  'Why, 
that's  the  son  of  that  good-for-nothing  jade  in 
the  Place  du  Grand  Paradis — the  one  who  went 
up  to  Paris  with  her  husband  to  guillotine  our 
good  King.  Now  they're  served  out  for  what 
they  did.  It's  her  son,  just  back  from  Bona- 
parte's army,  that  we've  killed! '  " 


(Dnce  more  tOtyite  terror  tUigns     373 

Adeline  gave  a  cry  of  horror,  but  Sister  Mnr- 
gai  had  more  to  tell.  "The  lame  little  old 
woman  caught  sight  of  the  blood-stains  on  the 
stones  and  beat  them  with  her  stick.  Then  she 
went  limping  away,  crying  out:  '  I'm  off  to  see 
what  they're  doing  in  the  Place  du  Grand  Pa- 
radis.  Our  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Vernede, 
who's  at  the  head  of  everything,  has  promised 
us  that  before  nightfall  the  Rhone  shall  be  car- 
rying the  father  and  the  mother,  along  with  the 
son,  beyond  the  bridge  of  Trinquetaille.  Oh, 
there's  rare  sport  afoot!  And  to-morrow  we're 
going  to  cut  the  tongue  out  of  one  of  Bonaparte's 
generals  who's  coming  here.  Rare  sport,  I  say 
— rare  sport! '  And  she  hobbled  away." 

"Oh  holy  saints  in  heaven!  "  cried  Adeline. 
"  It  is  Clairet,  my  dear  little  Clairet  whom  they 
have  killed!  And  it  is  the  false  Comte  de  la 
Vernede,  it  is  Calisto,  who  is  doing  this — who 
is  killing  the  brave  soldiers.  Oh  Sister  Margai, 
pray  with  me,  pray  with  me  to  our  own  Saint 
Ursula,  that  Pascalet  may  not  fall  into  the  hands 
of  those  murderers!  And  I,  who  every  day  for 
years  have  prayed  that  he  might  be"  brought 
back  here  and  my  eyes  given  sight  of  him  once 
more,  will  pray  that  he  may  be  kept  away  from 
this  accursed  land — away  from  this  Calisto 
whom  God  permits  to  live  on  in  crime!  " 

"Ah,"  said  Sister  Margai,  "if  our  brave  sol-i 
diers  who  come  back  from  the  wars  to  be  killed 
in  their  homes  had  only  Calisto  and  his  wretches 
to  reckon  with,  the  end  soon  would  come. 
But  he  is  only  one  of  the  many  evil  doers  who 
spread  terror  throughout  the  land.  In  the  moun- 
tains between  Malemort  and  Bedoin  is  Pastour's 


374  ®lK  tOljite  terror 


band — that  mercilessly  kills  the  Reds  and  plun- 
ders and  burns  their  homes.  Round  about 
Aries  is  the  Syphonier's  band,  that  casts  the 
Reds  and  the  poor  soldiers  into  the  Rhone.  And 
Trestaillon's  band,  over  by  Mimes,  is  the  worst 
of  all.  There  are  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
them,  and  they  sack  and  ravage  everywhere, 
and  without  pity  they  throw  Reds  and  soldiers 
and  Huguenots  all  together  into  the  flames!  " 

"Oh  Sister  Margai,"  moaned  Adeline, 
"these  times  are  worse  than  the  time  of  ter- 
ror that  kept  us  hidden  in  the  cave — the  time 
when  our  good  priest  Monsieur  Randoulet  was 
lost  to  us." 

"Worse!"  echoed  Sister  Margai.  "Indeed 
they  are  worse!  Our  butcher  has  just  come 
back  from  the  fair  at  Uzes,  and  what  he  told  me 
made  my  blood  run  cold.  He  said  that  some 
of  Trestaillon's  men  came  murdering  to  the 
farm  of  Chambaud,  near  Aramon.  They  found 
the  farmer's  wife  alone  in  the  house,  and  they 
seized  her  and  asked  her  if  she  was  a  good 
Catholic.  The  poor  woman,  ready  to  drop 
with  fear,  said  that  she  was.  '  Very  well 
then,'  they  said,  'prove  it  by  saying  your 
paternoster  and  your  Ave  Maria.'  They  held 
their  knives  at  her  heart,  and  of  course  she  was 
too  scared  to  say  a  word.  'Oh,  so  you're 
lying,'  they  said — and  in  a  moment  they  had 
stabbed  her  to  death!  The  farm  servant,  at 
work  in  the  garden,  heard  the  noise  and  came 
in  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  They  seized 
him  and  asked  him  if  he  were  a  Catholic  or  a 
Huguenot.  He  said  that  he"  was  a  Huguenot. 
'Then  you  shall  die  for  it,'  they  said,  and  killed 


U5ncc  more  tOljite  terror  Ueigns     375 

him  too.  Then  they  set  fire  to  the  farm-house 
and  came  away. 

"  Our  butcher  told  me,"  Sister  Margai  went 
on,  "that  when  he  was  in  Uzes  he  saw  Tres- 
taillon  himself— his  real  name's  not  Trestaillon, 
it's  Dupont — and  some  of  his  men  with  him : 
one  named  Graffan,  and  one  they  call  Quatre- 
taillons,  and  some  more.  And  our  butcher  saw 
them  fetch  out  of  the  prison  at  Uzes  five  Hugue- 
not Liberals  who  had  been  shut  up  there  for 
their  own  safety,  and  drag  them  along  to  the 
front  of  the  Bishop's  Palace  and  there  murder 
them — and  the  King's  Sous-prefet  all  the  while 
looking  on  !  Then,  in  mockery,  Trestaillon 
propped  them  up  on  their  knees,  with  their 
faces  toward  Mimes,  and  put  spectacles  on  their 
noses — and  then  jeered  at  them :  '  Do  you  see 
help  coming  from  the  Card  ?'  " 

Adeline  only  partly  listened  to  Sister  Mar- 
gai's  stories  of  horrors.  In  her  heart  was  bitter 
grief  for  the  dead  Clairet,  and  bitter  dread  that 
already  Vauclair  and  Lazuli  might  be  dead  also; 
and  a  still  keener  fear  beset  her  as  she  thought 
of  her  Pascalet's  peril  should  he  chance — as  was 
only  too  likely — to  come  back  to  Avignon  in 
that  wild  time.  And  then,  suddenly,  Jacque- 
mart  began  to  sound  the  tocsin,  and  almost  in 
the  same  moment  they  heard  a  great  outcry  in 
the  street  and  shouts  of  "Death!  Death  to 
him !  To  the  Rhone !  To  the  Rhone !  " 

They  could  see  nothing.  They  could  only 
hear.  There  was  the  angry  roar  of  a  crowd. 
The  trampling  of  horses'  feet.  Louder  cries 
of  "Death  to  him!"  and  "To  the  Rhone!" 
Then  the  shrill  singing,  in  which  the  voices  of 


376  ®l)e  tOI]ite  terror 

women  and  children  joined,  of  the  song  of  the 
White  Terror: 

"No  one  shall  we  spare! 
So  Trestaillon  commands. 
Our  knives  make  the  law! 

Long  live  the  King! 
All  the  brigands  shall  die! 
Long  live  the.  Queen!  " 

Then  a  strong  voice  shouted  loud  above  the 
tumult:  "To  the  Rhone  with  him!  To  the 
Rhone  with  the  sans-culotte  who  carried  the 
head  of  our  Princesse  de  Lamballe  on  his  pike!" 
And  then  the  crowd  passed  on,  and  the  noises 
grew  fainter  and  fainter. 

With  white  faces  and  with  wildly  beating 
hearts  the  two  nuns  gazed  at  each  other  with 
wide  open  terrified  eyes.  It  seemed  to  them 
that  they  had  been  listening  to  the  cries  of 
devils  let  loose  on  earth  to  do  the  work  of 
hell! 

And  it  was  the  work  of  hell  that  was  done 
by  that  crowd,  presently,  on  the  Place  of  the 
Porte  de  1'Oulle.  There,  in  the  broad  daylight 
of  an  August  sun,  in  the  name  of  the  King  and 
in  the  presence  of  the  King's  officers  with  the 
King's  Prefet  at  their  head,  that  crowd  of  thou- 
sands of  Royalists — impudent  cowards,  led  by 
a  coward  clad  in  a  blue  coat  and  carrying  a 
silver-headed  cane — compassed  the  death  of  a 
Marshal  of  France !  And,  be  it  noted,  this  Mar- 
shal of  France  was  a  valiant  soldier  of  the 
Empire,  who  for  twenty  years  had  braved  the 
cannon-balls  of  the  Prussians  and  the  Austrians 
in  the  defence  of  his  country  and  of  Liberty. 
He  was  one  of  the  heroes  of  Arcola,  he  was  the 


(Dnce  more  tDl)itc  terror  Ucigns     377 

conqueror  of  Holland,  he  was  the  terror  of  the 
foreigner — he  was  Marshal  Brune ! 

Yet  it  did  not  come  easily,  this  killing. 
Consent  to  it  was  given  by  the  Juge  d'lnstruc- 
tion,  one  Piot  (may  his  name  be  held  in  shame!), 
a  wolf-faced  man,  who  sat  on  the  fender-stone 
in  the  Porte  de  1'Oulle  quietly  waiting  to  draw 
up  a  proces-verbal  when  the  crime  had  been 
committed;  and  consent  to  it  was  given  by  the 
Procureur  du  Roi,  one  Verger  (may  his  name  be 
held  in  shame!),  a  fox-headed  monster,  who 
passed  and  repassed  through  the  crowd,  eager 
to  insult  the  dead  body  of  the  Marshal  and  to 
shield  his  murderers.  Vet,  in  spite  of  this  offi- 
cial sanction,  in  spite  of  this  strange  mingling 
of  law  with  lawlessness,  no  one  seemed  to  have 
courage  enough  to  attack  the  brave  soldier. 
Jalles  had  not — the  treacherous  postillion  who 
forcibly  brought  him  from  Orgon  to  Avignon. 
Goulier  had  not — the  man  who  snatched  away 
his  plume  with  the  sneer:  "  You  are  a  brigand, 
unworthy  to  wear  a  marshal's  plume!  "  Calisto 
had  not — the  man  who  had  given  currency  to 
the  lie  that  Marshal  Brune  had  carried  on  a  pike 
the  head  of  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe.  In  all 
that  horde  of  Royalists — from  the  Prefet,  Saint- 
Chamans  (may  his  name  be  held  in  shame!),  to 
the  poorest  of  the  fanatical  Royalist  shop-keepers 
and  silk-weavers — there  were  to  be  found  but 
three  wretches  who  were  brave  enough  to  com- 
mit the  crime. 

These  three  were  Lou  Pounchu,  Farge,  and 
Grindon,  called  Rocofort — all  of  Trestaillon's 
band.  They  were  the  better  able  to  accomplish 
the  work  to  which  they  set  themselves  because 


378  &!)£  tDI)ite  terror 

they  were  frequenters  of  the  inn  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  into  which  Marshal  Brune  had  shut  him- 
self. Knowing  the  interior  arrangement  of  the 
house,  they  knocked  a  hole  through  the  floor  of 
the  room  above  that  in  which  he  was,  and  so 
reached  him.  But  before  the  piercing  glance  of 
the  hero  those  who  faced  him  stopped  thunder- 
struck. Lou  Pounchu  so  trembled  that  his  finger 
could  not  draw  the  trigger  of  his  piece.  Farge 
fired  his  pistol,  but  aimed  so  badly  that  the  ball 
merely  grazed  the  Marshal — who,  calm  as  he 
had  been  on  the  bridge  of  Arcola,  said  coolly : 
"  What  awkwardness!  "  Barely  had  he  uttered 
these  words  when  Rocofort,  who  had  stolen 
behind  him,  fired  a  ball  into  the  back  of  his 
head — and  Marshal  Brune  fell  forward,  a  dead 
man !  As  he  fell,  the  three  ran  to  the  window, 
flourishing  their  still  smoking  pieces,  and  cried 
to  the  crowd  below:  "Justice  has  been  done! 
Long  live  the  King!  " 

The  maddened  crowd  fell  to  dancing  a  fa- 
randole,  and  at. the  same  time  sang  loudly: 

"No  one  shall  we  spare  ! 
So  Trestaillon  commands. 
Our  knives  make  the  law! 
Long  live  the  King  !  " 

Others  of  the  crowd — mainly  women,  Papal- 
ists,  Royalists,  rich  bourgeois — shouted  out  a 
doggerel  verse  that  somebody  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  improvised: 

"  A  wide-awake  angel 
Put  in  his  gun 
The  excellent  prune 
That  killed  Marshal  Brune  !  " 


©nee  more  tDl]itc  QTerror  fteigns     379 

At  the  sound  of  the  shots,  the  Juge  d'ln- 
struction  rose  from  his  seat  in  the  Porte  de 
1'Oulle,  his  portfolio  under  his  arm.  Accompa- 
nied by  the  Procureur  du  Roi,  and  followed  by 
a  crowd  of  thieves  and  murderers,  he  entered 
the  inn  and  went  to  the  room  in  which  the  dead 
body  lay.  There,  with  ink  that  was  the  scum 
of  lies  and  hypocrisies,  he  drew  up  a  false 
proces-verbal  which  declared  that  the  Marshal 
had  blown  out  his  brains  with  his  own  hand. 
In  the  presence  of  these  officers  of  the  law,  the 
crowd  rifled  the  pockets  of  the  dead  Marshal, 
tore  off  his  gold  sword-knot,  and  insulted  his 
body. 

When  the  proces-verbal  was  finished,  the 
two  officers  left  the  body  in  the  fierce  custody 
of  the  crowd — and  then  was  to  be  seen  a  dead 
Marshal  of  France  dragged  shamefully  through 
the  streets  of  Avignon!  Papalists,  Royalists, 
emigres,  deserters,  allies  of  the  Prussian  and 
of  the  Austrian,  robbers,  murderers,  crowded 
around  the  body  and  larded  it  with  their  knives. 
At  last  they  carried  it  to  the  river — and  there, 
over  the  parapet  of  the  bridge  that  had  been  the 
scene  of  many  a  gay  farandole,  they  tossed  the 
body  of  a  Marshal  of  France,  mangled  but  still 
noble,  into  the  Rhone! 


CHAPTER  XLI 

SANCTUARY 

TREMBLING  with  fear,  Adeline  and  Sister  Mar- 
gai  had  cast  themselves  on  their  knees  before 
the  crucifix.  There  they  remained,  uttering 
broken  prayers,  while  that  foul  murder  was 
done.  Faintly  they  could  hear  the  shouts  and 
yells  from  the  crowd.  At  the  sound  of  the  firing 
they  shivered  and  crossed  themselves.  Sud- 
denly, with  less  volume,  the  noise  grew  sharper 
and  clearer.  They  heard  fewer  voices,  but  the 
voices  were  drawing  nearer  to  them  rapidly. 
They  could  make  out  the  trampling  of  feet.  In 
another  moment  the  crowd  had  turned  the  cor- 
ner and  was  in  their  own  street.  The  shouts 
ceased  to  be  a  confused  roar  and  became  distinct 
words:  "Kill  him!  Kill  the  brigand!  To  the 
Rhone  with  him !  To  the  Rhone! " 

The  two  nuns  had  risen  to  their  feet  and 
were  listening — breathless,  terrified.  Their  ter- 
ror was  increased  tenfold  when,  along  with  the 
shouting,  came  a  violent  banging  at  the  convent 
door.  It  was  an  irregular  knocking,  as  though 
made  with  clubs  or  stones,  but  so  loud  that  it 
rang  through  the  corridors  and  set  the  windows 
to  rattling.  With  it  came  a  clatter  of  bolts,  as 
the  frightened  Sisters  fastened  themselves  into 
their  cells.  Adeline  turned  a  dead  white,  and 
380 


Sanctuarn  381 


again  fell  upon  her  knees  before  the  crucifix.  She 
fancied  that  she  heard  the  voice  of  Calisto.  The 
dreadful  thought  came  to  her  that  he  meant  to 
break  into  the  convent  and  to  carry  her  off  by 
force ! 

To  Sister  Margai  came  another  thought:  that 
the  one  whom  the  crowd  was  bent  upon  killing 
was  beating  at  the  door  of  their  convent  in  the 
hope  of  finding  refuge  there.  She  also  was  a 
dead  white  and  was  shaking  with  terror.  But 
stronger  than  her  terror  was  her  brave  sense  of 
duty.  She  was  the  porteress  of  the  convent. 
It  was  her  duty  to  respond  to  that  knocking  by 
opening  the  door.  Sister  Margai  crossed  herself 
and  said  a  little  prayer.  Then,  holding  the  cross 
of  her  rosary  in  her  hand,  she  went  along  the 
corridor — past  the  fast  shut  doors — to  the  stair, 
and  down  the  stair  to  the  door.  Shaking  with 
fear  and  upheld  by  courage,  she  took  down  the 
bar  and  shot  back  the  bolts.  Then  she  opened 
the  door,  saying  tremblingly:  "  Benedicamus 
Domino!  " 

Sister  Margai  had  a  glimpse  of  the  howling 
and  roaring  crowd  over  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street — cut  off  by  the  canal  of  the  Sorgue  from 
their  prey.  But  it  was  only  a  glimpse.  As  the 
door  swung  open  a  soldier — bloody,  dizzy,  half- 
fainting — pitched  forward  bodily  into  her  arms. 
In  an  instant  she  had  managed  to  drag  him 
inside;  and  then,  leaving  him  lying  anyhow,  she 
clapped  to  the  door  and  made  it  fast  again  with 
bolt  and  bar. 

For  some  moments,  panting  hard,  she  stood 
listening.  "Will  they  try  to  break  in?"  she 
thought,  in  an  agony  of  dread.  But  the  crowd 


382  ®l)e  (Dljite  terror 

of  men — as  fickle  as  they  were  cruel — gave  up 
the  chase.  Had  they  caught  the  soldier  whom 
they  had  been  stoning  they  would  have  made 
short  work  of  him — not  only  because  of  the  uni- 
form that  he  wore,  but  because  he  had  raised  his 
voice  bravely  against  the  foul  murder  of  Marshal 
Brune.  But  since  they  had  not  caught  him, 
since  the  Sisters  had  seen  fit  to  give  him  shelter, 
off  they  went  again — hurrying  to  join  their  fel- 
lows who  were  dragging  the  Marshal's  body 
about  the  streets  of  Avignon  before  they  tossed 
it  into  the  Rhone. 

Sister  Margai  would  have  been  not  a  little 
embarrassed  at  finding  herself  of  a  sudden  alone 
in  the  convent  vestibule  with  a  strange  man, 
and  a  soldier  at  that,  had  not  the  poor  strange 
man  so  evidently  and  so  urgently  needed  her 
aid — as  he  lay  quite  still  where  she  had  dropped 
him,  the  blood  streaming  from  a  gash  in  his 
forehead  where  he  had  been  cut  by  a  stone. 
Therefore,  thinking  only  of  how  she  could  get 
her  broken  man  mended  again,  she  set  herself  to 
ministering  to  his  needs. 

His  first  need,  clearly,  was  to  be  lifted  out 
of  the  heap  in  which  he  was  lying  on  the  floor 
and  to  be  laid  upon  something  that  would  enable 
him  to  rest  comfortably ;  therefore  she  managed 
— being  as  strong  of  body  as  she  was  stout  of 
heart — to  drag  him  into  the  convent  parlour  and 
to  get  him  upon  a  straw-covered  sofa;  where  he 
could  bleed  as  much  as  he  pleased,  she  thought 
to  herself,  without  making  a  mess  that  wouldn't 
easily  wash  up  again.  He  revived  a  little  as 
she  propped  his  head  on  the  sofa  and  looked  up 
at  her  gratefully  with  a  pair  of  very  handsome 


Sanctuary  383 


black  eyes.  "Thank  you,  holy  Sister,"  he  said 
in  a  weak  voice.  "  Don't  bother  about  me.  I'll 
be  all  right  again  presently." 

"  Now  do  you  lie  there  without  stirring  till 
I  come  back,"  Sister  Margai  commanded.  "I'll 
make  you  as  comfortable  as  it's  possible  to  make 
you,  you  poor  soul!"  And  away  she  dashed 
for  cold  water  and  clean  rags,  and  for  orange- 
flower  water  to  refresh  her  poor  soldier  with 
when  she  had  washed  and  tied  up  his  wound. 
All  the  cell  doors  still  were  shut  fast  and  bolted, 
but  her  isolation  was  not  painful  at  all.  In  a 
twinkling,  with  both  hands  full,  she  was  back 
again  beside  her  wounded  man. 

"Here  I  am,"  she  said  with  great  cheerful- 
ness. "Now  keep  quiet  while  I  wash  away 
all  this  dreadful  blood.  Heavens,  what  a  cut 
it  is!" 

The  soldier  smiled  faintly.  "I've  known 
worse  cuts  than  this,  holy  Sister — very  much 
worse.  Why,  this  is  only  a  scratch!  Give  me 
the  basin,  please.  I'm  nearly  all  right  now.  I'll 
wash  away  the  blood  myself." 

"Indeed  you  won't  do  any  such  thing!" 
Sister  Margai  said  decidedly.  "You'll  lie  per- 
fectly still,  just  as  you  are,  and  you'll  let  me 
attend  to  it!"  And,  suiting  her  action  to  her 
words,  she  began  to  wash  away  the  blood  from 
his  forehead  very  tenderly — refreshing  him  not 
more  with  the  cool  water  than  with  the  kindly 
touch  of  her  soft  hand.  As  she  fingered  the 
torn  flesh,  setting  it  in  place,  it  was  she,  not 
the  soldier,  who  winced  and  cried  "  Ai!  " 

The  young  fellow  laughed  a  little,  by  way 
of  putting  heart  into  her.  "  You  see,"  he  said, 


384  ®b*  tWle  terror 

"it's  an  old  wound  that  that  dog  of  a  Royalist 
has  dug  open  again  with  his  stone.  I  had  a 
sabre-cut  there  once  that  made  a  good  deal  of  a 
mess — and  would  have  made  a  worse  mess  if 
my  head  hadn't  been  so  jolly  hard!  " 

His  laugh,  and  his  stronger  voice,  and  the 
mocking  note  in  his  words,  united  to  comfort 
Sister  Margai  amazingly.  Evidently,  he  had 
a  lot  of  life  left  in  him.  Fears  on  his  behalf  were 
quite  superfluous.  All  that  he  needed  to  make 
him  sound  again  was  a  little  care.  In  giving 
him  this  care  she  found  a  rather  perilous  self- 
satisfaction.  All  blood-stained, 'she  had  thought 
him  handsome— she  thought  him  still  handsomer 
when  she  had  finished  her  tenderly  gentle  wash- 
ing and  the  blood  was  gone.  A  little  unruly 
thrill  stirred  the  heart  of  this  good  Sister  as  she 
looked  from  under  her  eye-lashes  at  her  soldier 
whose  life  she  had  saved:  at  his  fine  strong 
face,  set  off  by  long  plaits  of  hair  falling  to  his 
shoulders  and  by  a  strong  mustache,  and  most 
of  all  by  a  pair  of  dancing  black  eyes!  And 
how  very  becoming  to  him,  she  thought,  was 
his  uniform  of  a  grenadier  of  the  Guard,  with 
its  white  gaiters  and  its  gallant  red  epaulettes! 
Her  fingers  tingled  as  she  touched  him.  And 
her  touch  was  so  very  gentle  as  to  be  danger- 
ously close  to  a  caress! 

"Sister  Margai!  Sister  Margai!  "  she  said  to 
herself  sharply,  "this  won't  do  at  all!  You  are 
giving  pain  to  the  good  God !  See  to  it  that  you 
punish  yourself.  To-night,  after  matins,  you 
must  have  a  dose  of  the  seven-knotted  scourge !  " 
So  steadying  herself,  she  set  about  binding  her 
soldier's  wound  with  fine  linen.  Now  that  the 


Sanctnarn  385 


blood  was  gone  the  scar  on  his  forehead  showed 
plainly.  "  Mon  Dieu!"  she  cried.  ''What  a 
dreadful  sword-cut  that  must  have  been!  The 
scar  goes  all  the  way  across!  " 

"The  Emperor  said  to  me,"  the  soldier 
answered,  his  eyes  brightening,  "that  a  scar 
like  that  is  a  star  of  the  brave !  " 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Sister  Margai,  "to  think 
of  that !  To  think  that  the  Emperor  himself  has 
spoken  to  you!  "  She  was  so  overcome  by  the 
honour  that  had  been  done  to  her  soldier  that 
she  finished  binding  up  his  wound  without 
uttering  another  word.  He  lay  quite  still — as  a 
good  child  ministered  to  by  its  mother — while 
she  set  the  bandage  in  place  closely  and  firmly, 
and  smiled  gratefully  as  she  ended  by  smoothing 
back  his  hair.  "Now  you  shall  have  a  glass  of 
orange-flower  water,"  she  said.  "It  will  re- 
fresh you  and  do  you  good." 

As  the  soldier  took  the  glass  from  her  hand 
and  raised  himself  on  one  elbow  to  drink,  he 
glanced  inquiringly  around  the  room.  "Thank 
you,"  he  said  as  he  gave  back  to  her  the  empty 
glass,  "that  was  delicious.  And  now  will  you 
tell  me,  holy  Sister,  where  I  am  ?  What  is  that 
double  grating,  with  a  black  curtain  behind  it  ? 
Am  I  by  chance  in  a  prison  ?" 

"Oh  no,  no!"  Sister  Margai  answered. 
"Of  course  you're  not  in  a  prison!  You  are  in 
God's  own  house — in  a  convent  of  cloistered 
nuns,  whom  you  may  not  see,  but  who  will 
take  good  care  of  you  until  you  are  quite  well 
again  and  can  go  on  your  way!  " 

"My  good  Sister,  do  you  think  I  mean  to 
sit  here  until  the  silk-worms  are  grown  up  ? 


386  ®lic  toliite  QCerror 

You've  put  me  in  capital  order,  and  I'm  very 
much  obliged  to  you — but  now  I  must  be  off 
after  those  rascals  who  have  murdered  my  Mar- 
shal Brune." 

"You  want  to  go  back  into  that  crazy 
crowd?  Good  heavens,  you  must  be  crazy 
yourself !  You  mustn't  even  dream  of  such  a 
thing!  What  you  are  to  do  is  to  stay  here 
quietly  until  your  wound  begins  to  heal.  Then, 
when  you  are  fit  to  go  about  again,  you  can  slip 
away  some  night  and  be  off  safely  to  your 
home." 

The  soldier  was  not  by  any  means  disposed 
to  accept  this  programme  which  Sister  Margai 
so  authoritatively  laid  down  for  him.  But  he 
found — when  he  tried  to  stand,  and  suddenly 
grew  dizzy  and  had  to  lie  down  again  in  a  hurry 
— that  he  should  have  to  accept  it,  at  least  in  part. 
The*  bleeding  from  the  cut  in  his  forehead  had 
been  prodigious,  and  had  left  him  very  weak  in- 
deed. "  I  believe  1  must  rest  here  a  little  longer," 
he  said  in  a  grumbling  tone.  "To  think,"  he 
added,  "that  one  of  the  Emperor's  marshals 
should  be  murdered,  and  that  I  shouldn't  be 
able  to  raise  a  hand!" 

Sister  Margai  was  able  to  accept  the  situation 
quite  resignedly.  "  Now  promise  me  that  you'll 
be  good,  that  you  won't  move,"  she  said.  "  I 
must  go  and  tell  our  reverend  Mother  Superior 
about  your  being  here — but  I  won't  be  gone  long. 
Now  don't  you  move!  "  And  off  she  went  to 
tell  her  wonderful  piece  of  news.  She  was  very 
eager  to  tell  it,  yet  was  she  also  rather  anxious 
about  the  reception  that  would  be  given  to  it. 
What  she  had  done,  though  for  the  saving  of 


Sanctuary  387 


human  life,  was  a  glaring  infraction  of  a  most 
serious  rule! 

Naturally,  her  report  caused  a  very  lively  stir 
in  the  Sisterhood.  "  Heavens!  "  cried  a  devout 
old  nun.  "A  man  in  our  convent!  " 

"And  a  soldier!  "  exclaimed  another,  cross- 
ing herself. 

"And  a  brigand!  "  snarled  Sister  Dorothy, 
shaking  her  fist. 

But  Mother  Scholastica,  being  merciful  and 
abounding  in  charity,  took  a  broader  view  of 
the  matter.  "  God  will  bless  you  for  what  you 
have  done,  Sister  Margai,"  she  said  earnestly; 
"and  what  God  blesses  I  cannot  ban.  There  can 
be  no  harm  in  breaking  a  rule  of  our  convent 
if  in  that  way  a  man's  life  can  be  saved.  And 
you  must  continue  your  ministrations,  Sister.  If 
he  needs  nourishment,  give  it  to  him.  He  must 
be  made  strong  enough  to  get  on  to  his  home. 
.Is  his  home  here  in  Avignon,  do  you  know?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  he  lives  here  in  Avignon. 
He's  a  soldier  just  come  here  from  the  Emperor's 
army,  but  I  don't  think  this  is  his  home." 

"  Didn't  you  ask  him  his  name  ?"  questioned 
Adeline. 

"Ask  him  his  name!  Goodness  me!  I  had 
enough  to  do  to  wash  the  blood  off  and  bind  up 
his  wound.  It  didn't  come  into  my  head  that 
he  had  a  name — though  I  suppose  he  has." 

Adeline  drew  Mother  Scholastica  a  little  aside 
and  spoke  to  her  eagerly.  ' '  Reverend  Mother, " 
she  said,  "  perhaps  that  soldier  may  have  known 
little  Pascalet  and  may  be  able  to  give  me  news 
of  him.  Will  you  not  take  me  to  the  grating 
that  I  may  ask?" 


tt)l)ite 


"Hush,  my  child,"  the  Mother  Superior  an- 
swered, "  to-day  it  is  too  late — we  must  go  now 
and  recite  the  office  for  nones.  But  to-morrow, 
after  the  holy  mass,  during  the  time  for  recrea- 
tion, you  shall  come  with  me  to  the  grating. 
Then  we  will  get  him  to  tell  us  about  himself, 
and  we  will  ask  him  for  news  of  the  little  sol- 
dier from  Malemort." 

Some  of  the  other  Sisters  had  drawn  near  and 
heard  the  Mother  Superior's  concluding  words. 
At  once  there  was  an  outcry  of  ' '  And  me  too !  " 
"  And  me  too,  Reverend  Mother!  "  "  Let  us  all 
go  and  hear  what  the  poor  soldier  has  to  tell!  " 
And  in  the  end  Mother  Scholastica,  to  whom 
refusing  a  favour  did  not  come  easily,  gave  her 
consent  that  they  all  should  take  part  in  the  ad- 
venture. "But  remember,  Sisters,"  she  said, 
"  while  you  may  hear  him  you  may  not  see 
him.  We  shall  stand  at  the  grating,  but  the 
curtain  shall  not  be  drawn.  We  must  not  set 
our  great  Saint  Ursula  to  weeping  up  in  heaven 
because  the  sin  of  curiosity  is  rife  among  her 
nuns!" 

Just  then — jingle,  jingle-jingle!  rang  the  little 
bell  for  nones.  Off  sped  the  nuns  to  their  cells 
to  recite  the  office,  scattering  like  a  flock  of 
sparrows  frightened  by  the  discharge  of  a  gun. 

Adeline's  mind  was  so  full  of  the  soldier 
from  whom  she  might  be  able  to  get  news  of 
Pascalet  that  she  sadly  bungled  her  prayers. 
Nor  could  she  close  her  eyes  the  whole  night 
long.  Over  and  over  she  framed  the  questions 
that  she  would  ask  in  the  morning.  Over  and 
over  she  conjured  up  visions  of  Pascalet  himself. 
Always  her  vision  was  the  same:  of  Pascalet  as 


Sanctuarj}  389 


she  last  had  seen  him,  on  that  far-back  day  in 
Paris  when  he  had  said  good-bye  to  her  at  the 
Planchots'  and  had  gone  off  to  the  barracks  to 
draw  his  pay.  She  knew  that  he  must  have 
changed  greatly,  but  how  he  had  changed  she 
could  not  know  at  all.  And  so  her  only  certain 
picture  of  him  was  the  one  that  lived  in  her 
memory:  of  a  bright-eyed  stripling  whose 
laughing  face  was  as  smooth  as  the  face  of  a 
girl. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

A  GRENADIER  OF  THE  EMPEROR'S  GUARD 

WHEN,  at  last,  the  morning  angelus  rang, 
Adeline  was  up  and  dressed  in  a  moment. 
Then,  very  quietly,  she  opened  her  door  a  crack 
and  waited  for  the  coming  of  the  porteress. 
Presently  Sister  Margai  began  her  morning  round 
— knocking  at  the  door  of  each  cell  and  call- 
ing "Benedicamus  Domino!"  and  receiving  a 
drowsy  "Deo  gratias!"  in  reply.  Adeline  also 
answered  "  Deo  gratias!  " — but  opened  her  door 
and  in  a  low  voice  asked  hurriedly:  "Tell  me, 
Sister,  did  the  soldier  say  anything  to  you  about 
Pascalet?" 

"No,"  Sister  Margai  answered,  "he  didn't. 
But  I  think  it  likely  he's  met  him,  for  that  young 
man  seems  to  have  made  a  point  of  going  to 
every  battle  that  ever  was  fought.  It's  heavenlv 
to  hear  him  tell  about  'em !  You  feel  as  if  you 
were  right  in  'em  yourself !  "  And  Sister  Mar- 
gai went  on  down  the  corridor  with  her  "  Bene- 
dicamus  Domino!  " — rousing  the  Sisters  for  the 
morning  service  of  the  mass. 

To  Adeline  that  mass  seemed  interminable. 
The  worthy  Monsieur  Peru — their  almoner  in 
the  place  of  Monsieur  Jusserand — was  a  truly 
holy  man,  but  at  all  times  his  slowness  was 
marvellous.  On  that  particular  morning  it  was 
390 


^  (B>renabier  of  tl)e  (Emperor's  ©marfc    391 

almost  miraculous.  While  he  said  his  "  Domi- 
nus  vobiscum  "  there  was  time  enough  to  kill  a 
donkey  with  fisticuffs!  Adeline  fretted  and 
twisted  and  turned.  It  seemed  as  though  he 
never  would  get  to  the  end ! 

At  last,  somehow,  he  managed  to  arrive  at 
his  "  Ita  missa  est  " — and  the  dismissed  Sisters 
hastened  thankfully  to  the  refectory  and  ate  their 
light  morning  meal  in  a  scamper,  being  only 
less  eager  than  Adeline  to  hear  what  their  soldier 
had  to  tell.  Then  the  whole  community — ex- 
cepting Sister  Dorothy,  who  refused  to  have 
anything  whatever  to  do  with  "the  brigand" 
— flocked  in  the  wake  of  Mother  Scholastica  to 
the  convent  parlour  and  ranged  themselves, 
with  a  soft  rustling  of  robes  and  a  little  clicking 
of  rosaries,  behind  the  black  curtain  that  veiled 
the  bars.  The  Mother  Superior's  command  was 
stringent  that  no  one  but  herself  should  speak 
to  their  guest.  A  flutter  went  through  the 
gentle-hearted  company  as  this  most  exciting 
interview  began. 

"  God  be  with  you,  brave  soldier,"  said  Sister 
Scholastica.  "  How  is  your  wound  to-day  ?" 

"  God  be  with  you,  holy  Sister,"  the  soldier 
answered  in  a  cheerful  voice.  "My  wound  is 
doing  very  well  indeed.  You  must  not  worry 
about  it  at  all." 

"  We  will  pray  to  God,  and  to  our  holy  Saint 
Ursula,  to  make  your  cure  speedy  and  to  bring 
you  quickly  to  your  own  home." 

"Well,  I'm  not  familiar  with  Saint  Ursula, 
though  I  dare  say  she's  obliging.  But  God  knows 
me,  and  twice  he  has  worked  a  miracle  in  my 
behalf." 


392  ®b*  tOljite  terror 

At  this  there  was  a  little  buzz  of  admiration 
among  the  nuns  as  they  whispered  to  each 
other:  "Oh,  what  a  worthy  soldier!"  "Oh, 
what  an  excellent  young  man !  "  Adeline's  eyes 
were  full  of  tears  and  her  heart  was  in  a  tumult. 
She  was  not  thinking  about  the  soldier's  display 
of  piety;  she  was  thinking  only  that  he  might 
have  known,  and  that  in  a  moment  or  two 
more  he  might  be  giving  her  news  of  her 
Pascalet! 

"Indeed,  I  may  say — counting  this  last  one 
— that  God  has  worked  three  miracles  for  me," 
the  soldier  continued.  He  had  heard  the  mur- 
mur of  approval  called  forth  by  his  pious  words 
and  was  disposed  to  intensify  the  good  impres- 
sion that  he  was  making.  "  The  first  one  was 
more  than  twenty  years  ago  in  Paris,  and  the 
second  was  less  than  three  years  ago  among 
the  snows  of  Russia,  and  the  third  was  right 
here  yesterday — when  your  good  Sister  Margai 
opened  the  door  just  in  time  to  save  me  from 
being  stoned  to  death  by  the  assassins  of  Mar- 
shal Brune." 

Again  there  was  a  buzz  of  approbation,  in 
the  midst  of  which  Mother  Scholastica  said: 
"Then  you  have  been  in  close  peril  of  death 
three  times,  and  a  kind  Father  in  heaven 
has  — 

"  Three  times!  "  the  soldier  interrupted.  "  It 
is  more  like  a  hundred  times  that  I  have  felt 
blowing  on  me  the  chill  wind  of  death!  It  is 
the  duty  of  a  grenadier  of  the  Emperor's  Guard, 
you  must  remember,  to  meet  death  a  good  deal 
more  than  half-way;  to  get  into  the  places 
where  the  cannon-balls  and  the  bullets  are 


01  ©renabier  of  tty*  (Emperor's  (Ewarb    393 

thickest — as  they  were  that  day  at  Waterloo 
when  we  marched  through  the  fire  of  eighty 
thousand  Englishmen  under  Wellington  on  one 
side  of  us  and  of  a  hundred  thousand  Prussians 
under  Blucher  on  the  other  side  of  us,  at  the 
battle  of  Mont  Saint  Jean.  Under  that  cross-fire 
we  had  to  go  through  the  famous  hawthorn 
hedge  and  take  the  farm-house  beyond  it  by 
assault.  If  I  didn't  die  then,  my  Sisters,  I  don'"t 
see  how  I  ever  can  die.  Just  let  me  tell  you 
about  it,  and  you'll  think  so  too. 

"You  see,  the  hedge  was  a  huge  one,  very 
high  and  very  wide.  In  an  orchard  behind  it 
the  English  were  hidden  by  thousands,  and  as 
we  came  down  on  them  they  fought  like  lions 
and  tigers — for  they  knew  that  to  kill  every  man 
of  us  was  the  only  way  to  stop  a  charge  of  the 
grenadiers  of  the  Guard.  When  we  got  to 
within  twenty  paces  or  so  of  the  hedge  each 
separate  leaf  and  flower  of  it  seemed  to  be  spit- 
ting fire  at  us.  Down  its  whole  length  was  a 
glare,  as  dazzling  as  lightning,  that  almost 
blinded  us  as  we  halted  to  pour  in  a  volley  and 
then  went  on  again  steadily.  Just  then  I  glanced 
backward,  and  instantly  was  filled  with  shame 
— for  up  on  the  hill  of  La  Belle  Alliance  I  saw 
the  Emperor,  and  he  was  looking  straight  at 
me!  I  blushed  crimson  at  the  thought  that  he 
should  see  me  looking  the  wrong  way.  Then, 
along  with  my  comrades,  in  I  went  among  the 
hawthorn  blossoms  with  a  bound.  As  we  strug- 
gled through  the  close-knit  thorny  branches  the 
fire  of  the  English,  in  our  very  faces,  was  ter- 
rible. All  the  same,  with  that  deadly  fire  whip- 
ping us  like  hailstones,  each  of  us  managed  to 


394  ®i)e  toljite  SUrror 

pull  a  sprig  of  hawthorn — and  out  we  came  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hedge  and  fell  to  on  the 
English,  every  one  of  us  with  a  spray  of  haw- 
thorn blossoms  in  his  mouth.  We  made  short 
work  of  them.  The  killing  went  on  until  not 
one  of  the  enemy  in  the  orchard  was  left  alive! 

"Among  the  dead  bodies  which  covered 
the  ground  we  lined  up — our  bayonets  bent, 
our  wrists  sprained,  our  flesh  torn  by  the 
hawthorns,  many  of  us  wounded — while  we 
shouted  '  Long  "live  the  Emperor ! '  and  our 
drums  beat  victory.  But  our  victory  was  not 
to  last.  Barely  were  we  formed  when  our 
commander,  General  Cambronne,  called  out  to 
us:  'Now  that  you  have  shouted  "Long  live 
the  Emperor!"  my  boys,  you  may  shout  with 
me  "  Long  live  Death!  " — for  the  hour  is  come 
to  die  for  our  country  and  for  Liberty!'  And 
then  we  saw  on  all  sides  of  the  orchard,  sweep- 
ing down  upon  us  like  a  hurricane,  black  masses 
of  Prussians.  The  hills  around  us  suddenly 
were  black  with  them.  They  seemed  to  rise  up 
out  of  the  earth.  From  right  to  left,  from  east 
to  west,  their  black  battalions  were  closing  in 
upon  us.  We  were  surrounded,  blocked,  be- 
trayed— we  were  lost !  Once  again  1  looked 
over  at  the  hill  of  La  Belle  Alliance — but  there 
was  only  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke  where  the 
great  Napoleon  had  been! 

"  Desperately  we  formed  in  square  about  our 
brave  General,  who  held  aloft  the  tri-colour. 
From  our  four  fronts  blazed  out  a  withering  fire 
upon  the  oncoming  black  battalions.  The  grime 
of  gunpowder,  the  smears  of  blood,  gave  us  the 
look  of  monsters.  And  we  fought,  and  fought! 


&  ©rcnabicr  of  t!)c  (gmperor's  (Buarb    395 

We  fought,  so  furious  were  we,  showing  our 
teeth  like  wolves ;  and  we  shouted  hoarsely  the 
cry  that  our  General  had  given  us:  '  Hurrah  for 
Death ! '  The  dense  black  battalions — surround- 
ing us  and  cutting  us  to  pieces  with  grape-  and 
round-shot—did  not  dare  to  charge  us.  Pru- 
dently they  kept  back  from  that  hawthorn  hedge 
that  we  had  carried  so  gaily  an  hour  before! 

"  In  one  of  those  moments  of  silence  which 
sometimes  come  in  battle— when  it  seems  as 
though  the  cannon  are  taking  a  breathing  spell 
— the  English  general  coming  down  on  us  from 
the  north  cried  shrilly:  '  Give  up  the  flag! ' 

"At  that  our  General  Cambronne,  standing 
breast-deep  among  dead  bodies,  raised  his 
sword,  opened  his  mouth  wide,  as  if  he  wanted 
to  bite  the  heavens,  and  in  a  wild  yell  shouted 
But  I  will  not  tell  you  what  he  shouted. 
It  is  not  a  word  to  be  uttered  within  convent 
walls ! 

"And  then  all  the  pistols,  all  the  muskets, 
all  the  cannon,  all  the  bombards,  of  the  black 
battalions  belched  forth  at  short  range  so  awful 
a  fire  from  their  iron  bellies  that  the  flowering 
hawthorn  hedge  was  mowed  down — and  be- 
yond it  was  mowed  down  the  remnant  of  us 
who  stood  around  our  General  and  our  flag. 
As  for  me,  I  felt  a  sudden  blow  in  my  breast  as 
if  a  horse  had  kicked  me.  It  spun  me  around 
like  a  top.  Then  I  fell,  my  face  to  the  ground! 

"  There  I  was,  under  a  heap  of  dead  bodies, 
all  night.  And  there  I  might  be  still,  I  suppose, 
had  I  not  been  roused  when  morning  came  by 
a  sharp  pricking  in  my  hand.  My  hand  stuck 
out,  somehow,  from  among  the  dead  fellows  on 


396  ®be  tDI)ite  terror 


top  of  me,  and  as  I  woke  up  I  felt  as  though 
somebody  was  jabbing  a  knife  into  it.  '  Ai! '  I 
cried,  as  I  opened  my  eyes  and  turned  my  head 
a  little — and  then  I  made  out  that  a  raven  was 
perched  on  my  hand  and  was  pecking  at  it. 
He  flew  away  at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  and  I 
managed  to  crawl  out  from  among  the  dead 
people..  As  I  felt  myself,  to  find  out  where  I 
was  wounded,  a  piece  of  iron  dropped  from  my 
breast  where  it  had  lodged  under  my  knapsack 
straps.  It  was  this  that  had  bowled  me  over 
without  cutting  my  flesh.  I  was  very  sore  and 
very  shaky,  but  I  was  not  wounded  at  all. 

"The  sun  was  rising  clear  from  behind  the 
hills  of  La  Belle  Alliance  and  Rossonne.  Far  off 
I  could  see  the  English  and  the  Prussian  bat- 
talions marching  away.  At  last  I  got  on  my 
feet — not  being  very  steady  on  them — and  looked 
about  me  for  my  brave  General  and  for  the  flag. 
But  there  was  no  General,  there  was  no  flag — 
both  were  gone!  And  then,  my  Sisters,  to  tell 
you  the  truth  I  fell  to  crying  like  a  baby. 
Around  me  all  my  companions  were  lying  dead; 
my  General  was  wounded  or  a  prisoner;  my 
flag  was  in  the  hands  of  the  English;  my  Em- 
peror was  vanished  in  a  cloud!  There  seemed 
nothing  left  for  me  but  to  blow  out  my  brains!  " 

"  Oh!  "  sighed  all  the  nuns  together,  as  they 
heard  these  desperate  words. 

"  But  the  thought  came  to  me,"  the  soldier 
went  on  quickly,  "of  my  old  mother,  and  of 
another  very  dear  to  me — and  for  them  I  lived. 
Off  I  started  across  the  hills,  and  walked  all  day 
among  dead  bodies — because  1  went  back  by 
Quatre-Bras  and  Ligny,  where  the  brave  Mar- 


(Sfrenabier  of  tlje  (Emperor's  (Suarb    397 


shal  Ney  had  beaten  the  English  and  where  the 
Hmperor  had  beaten  the  Prussians.  And  on 
and  on  for  thirty  days  and  thirty  nights  I  walked 
alone.  On  that  long  march  I,  a  grenadier  of  the 
Hmperor's  Guard,  have  had  to  beg  my  bread! 
When  1  come  here  to  Avignon  it  is  to  see  mur- 
dered Marshal  Brune,  a  great  soldier  of  France! 
Because  I  tried  to  protect  his  dead  body  from 
insult,  I  am  stoned  by  dogs  of  Aristocrats — and 
would  have  been  killed  had  I  not  found  refuge 
here!  Oh  my  Sisters,  when  I  think  of  all  this  it 
is  only  your  presence  that  keeps  me  from  bel- 
lowing out :  '  Sacre-nom-de-Dieu ! '  ' 

As  the  soldier  undoubtedly  had  bellowed 
out  precisely  those  words,  all  the  Sisters  uttered 
a  shuddering  "  Oh!  "  and  fell  to  crossing  them- 
selves vigorously — while  the  Mother  Superior 
said  in  a  reproving  tone:  "Brave  soldier,  do 
not  blaspheme  the  name  of  the  good  God  who 
three  times  has  worked  a  miracle  to  save  your 
life!" 

"You  are  right,  my  Sister,  and  I  am  wrong. 
It  is  true  that  three  times  God  has  kept  me  alive 
by  miracles.  And  I  don't  count  as  a  miracle, 
you  must  understand,  what  I  have  just  been 
telling  you  about.  That  was  all  in  the  day's 
work.  Now  it  was  another  matter  in  Russia. 
If  ever  anybody  got  a  miracle  anywhere,  1  got 
one  there!  " 

"Will  you  tell  us  about  it?"  Mother  Scho- 
lastica  asked.  "That  is,"  she  added,  checking 
herself,  "  if  talking  so  much  will  not  tire  you 
and  make  you  feverish.  Perhaps  you  had  better 
rest  now." 

Behind  the  curtain  were  vehement  whisper- 


398  ®l)£  tol)ite  terror 

ings  of  "Oh,  don't  stop  him!"  "Please  let 
him  go  on!"  "Do  let  him  tell  us  about  his 
miracle!  " — and  Adeline,  pressing  Mother  Scho- 
lastica's  hand,  begged  hardest  of  all  that  the 
soldier  might  talk  on.  The  soldier,  hearing  these 
buzzing  tones  of  entreaty,  settled  the  matter. 
"There  is  no  danger  of  my  getting  feverish," 
he  said  briskly,  "because  already  I  am  well 
again.  This  little  cut  on  my  head  <don't  amount 
to  anything.  We  soldiers  of  the  Great  Army 
have  skins  that  sew  themselves  together  of  their 
own  accord!"  And  to  show  that  he  really  was 
well  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room 
with  firm  strides,  curling  his  mustachioes  as  he 
walked.  Even  through  the  curtain,  the  nuns 
could  see  the  outline  of  his  tall  and  well-knit 
figure  passing  and  repassing  before  the  win- 
dows, and  they  followed  his  motions  with  a 
very  eager  gaze. 

Mother  Scholastica  was  quite  as  keen  as  the 
others  were  to  hear  the  story.  "  Is  it  possible," 
she  asked,  "that  you  have  been  in  closer  peril  of 
death  than  when"  you  faced  that  dreadful  haw- 
thorn hedge  ?  " 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself.  Listen  to 
what  happened  to  me  up  there  in  that  execrable 
land  of  snow." 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

INTO     A     DESERT    LAND 

"  RUSSIA  is  off  at  the  very  end  of  the  earth, 
my  Sisters,"  the  soldier  began,  "and  is  an  evil 
region  that  God  only  looks  on  at  night.  It  is  a 
land  barren  and  desolate.  Never  a  good  blade 
of  grass  grows  on  its  bleak  hillsides  and  endless 
plains,  and  there  is  a  town  or  a  hamlet  only 
about  once  in  every  thousand  leagues.  Why, 
when  we  marched  into  that  huge  wilderness, 
although  there  were  close  to  half  a  million  of  us, 
we  fairly  were  lost! 

"But  it  seemed,  to  begin  with,  as  if  we 
never  would  get  there  at  all.  For  thirteen  long 
weeks  we  marched  on  and  on — across  our  old 
battlefields  in  Germany,  where  we  had  stripped 
the  double-headed  eagle  of  his  plumes;  through 
Warsaw,  where  General  Murat  had  hoisted  the 
tri-colour  over  the  Cathedral  of  Saint  John  seven 
years  before;  and  then  on  into  a  country  over 
there  toward  the  sunrise  that  we  didn't  know  at 
all.  Every  day  we  thought  that  we  must  come 
to  the  end  of  the  world.  We  crossed  rivers 
and  we  crossed  mountains  and  we  never  seemed 
to  get  anywhere.  Always  before  us  was  a  land 
bare  and  dumb.  Where  were  the  Russians  ? 
we  asked  each  other.  What  had  become  of 
the  enormous  army  that  we  had  seen  at  Auster- 

399 


tDljite  terror 


litz  ?  Why  did  we  not  fall  in  with  some  of 
those  shaggy  bearskin-clad  lancers  on  their  little 
red  horses  who  so  many  times  had  pestered  us  ? 
We  stared  and  we  stared  —  but  always  before  us 
was  emptiness.  In  endless  succession  we 
crossed  vast  bare  plains  on  which  not  a  tree,  not 
even  a  bush,  grew;  on  which  the  very  grass 
was  thin  and  dry;  over  which,  ahead  of  us,  the 
sun  rose  pale  in  the  morning  ;  over  which,  behind 
us,  the  sun  set  red  at  night—  always  hopelessly 
the  same!  Some  said:  'We'll  end  by  leaving 
the  sun  behind  us  for  good  and  all!'  Others 
said:  'We'll  never  find  our  way  home  again!  ' 
Everybody  grumbled.  It  was  enough  to  break 
your  heart!  Ahead  of  us,  on  his  white  horse, 
rode  the  Emperor  —  standing  out  clear  against 
the  sky,  around  him  the  flags  and  the  eagles. 
There  was  no  turning  back  possible  while  he 
led  us.  We  followed  him  as  a  shepherd  is  fol- 
lowed by  his  flock. 

"At  last,  one  morning  at  sunrise,  we  saw 
far  off  on  the  horizon  a  long  black  line.  What 
it  was  —  town,  forest,  army  —  we  did  not  know; 
but  we  did  know  that  it  was  something  that 
broke  the  endlessly  dull  sameness  of  our  march. 
And  so  the  whole  four  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand of  us  gave  a  shout  that  made  the  stars 
tremble!  All  day  long  we  marched  toward 
that  black  line.  When  night  came  it  seemed  to 
be  no  nearer  to  us  —  and  when  the  sunrise  came 
again  it  was  gone!  In  bitter  disappointment 
we  marched  on,  dumbly  following  the  Emperor 
and  the  flags.  Late  in  the  day  we  saw  it  again, 
and  at  first  only  half  believed  in  it.  But  that 
time  it  was  clearer  and  firmer  in  its  outlines,  and 


Jnto  a  JDesert  Canb  401 

became  more  real  with  each  hour  of  our  advance. 
Walls,  towers,  domes,  uprose  against  the  grey 
sky  of  evening.  At  last  we  were  certain  of  it. 
That  time  it  was  a  real  city — not  a  mirage. 
Without  waiting  for  orders  we  quickened  our 
pace.  We  were  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  it;  for 
there,  at  last,  the  Russians  must  be.  When 
there  came  a  burst  of  flame  and  a  thunderous 
report  from  the  ramparts,  and  we  saw  the  earth 
in  front  of  our  army  ploughed  up  by  cannon- 
balls,  we  fairly  roared  for  joy! 

"We  embraced  each  other,  we  wept  with 
delight.  Those  cannon-balls  were  manna  to  us 
in  our  desert.  With  a  good  will  we  could  have 
hugged  the  cannoneers.  At  last  we  had  the 
Russian  army  in  front  of  us  and  within  reach; 
no  longer  were  we  in  utter  loneliness,  lost  at 
the  very  end  of  the  world.  Then  our  artillery 
talked  back  for  a  little  while  to  the  Russians, 
and  when  we  had  made  them  our  compliments 
with  cannon-shots  our  bugles  sounded  the  ad- 
vance and  our  drums  beat  the  pas-de-charge. 
Away  we  went,  shouting  '  Vive  la  France! '  and 
'  Vive  1'Empereur! '  Presently  we  had  sent  the 
enemy  flying — and  Smolensk,  the  Holy  City, 
was  ours! 

"  But  more  than  the  soldiers  whom  we  had 
been  fighting  had  fled.  Everybody  had  fled! 
The  city  was  deserted  utterly,  as  sad  and  as 
silent  as  a  grave-yard.  Worse  than  that,  we 
found  in  it  nothing  to  eat.  The  Russians  had 
destroyed  everything.  Not  a  handful  of  oats 
was  left  for  our  horses,  not  a  handful  of  wheat 
for  ourselves.  And  the  country  had  been  cleaned 
as  bare  as  the  town.  Grain,  hay,  everything 


4°2  &tye  ttttyite  (terror 

that  would  keep  life  in  men  or  in  horses,  had 
been  burned.  Our  victory  had  gained  for  us 
only  an  empty  city  and  an  empty  land! 

"To  Moscow!  To  Moscow!"  we  shouted 
— and  off  we  started  again,  with  our  Emperor 
and  our  flags  and  our  eagles  in  the  van. 

"  On  and  on  and  on  we  marched.  We  fol- 
lowed in  the  tracks  of  the  retreating  enemy — 
who  would  not  make  a  stand  and  give  us  a 
chance  to  fight  him,  who  always  managed  to 
keep  beyond  our  reach  no  matter  how  fast  we 
marched.  We  passed  villages  and  towns,  and 
found  every  one  of  them  empty  and  deserted — 
just  as  Smolensk  had  been.  The  people  had 
fled  with  everything  that  they  could  carry  away. 
What  they  could  not  carry  away  they  had 
burned.  The  fields  had  been  burned  over.  We 
found  them  black  and  barren.  Always  about 
us  smoke  filled  the  air.  For  three  weeks  we 
marched  through  that  abomination  of  desolation. 
Then  we  came  to  the  banks  of  the  river  Moscowa, 
near  a  village  called  Borodino,  and  there  the 
Russians  gave  us  battle  again. 

"We  fought  them  there  through  a  whole 
long  day.  The  rising  sun  was  too  late  to  see 
the  beginning  of  our  fighting,  and  the  setting 
sun  was  too  early  to  see  its  end.  But  after  the 
sun  had  left  us  there  was  a  flash  of  light  of  an- 
other sort — when  all  the  sabres  of  Marshal  Ney's 
fifteen  thousand  cavalrymen  flashed  out  together 
as  they  charged !  Oh,  good  Sisters,  if  you  could 
have  seen  that  flash,  when  those  fifteen  thou- 
sand sabres  all  at  once  leaped  from  their  scab- 
bards and  dazzled  the  densely  massed  battalions 
on  which  they  fell!  Nothing  could  stand  be- 


Into  a  ?Uesert  £anfc  403 

fore  that  charge!  The  Russians  cowered, 
wavered,  broke — and  fled  like  a  frightened  herd 
of  bulls !  They  abandoned  everything — artillery, 
ammunition,  the  whole  of  their  baggage  train. 
And  they  left  the  road  before  us,  straight  into 
Moscow,"  clear  and  free !  On  we  marched  along 
that  road  for  seven  days.  Always  around  us 
was  desolation.  Always  the  smoking  land  was 
bare.  Then  we  reached,  at  last,  the  capital  of 
Russia — the  only  capital  in  Europe  over  which 
had  not  waved  the  French  flag! 

"We  were  at  the  end  of  our  vastly  long 
march,  and  we  held  the  city  to  conquer  which 
we  had  come  so  far.  When  we  saw  the  great 
palaces,  and  the  wonderful  Kremlin,  and  the 
churches  with  their  gilded  domes,  we  were  sure 
that  we  should  find  food  in  plenty  and  that  our 
hardships  were  at  an  end.  But  we  were  wrong. 
Moscow  was  as  clean-swept  as  all  the  towns 
had  been  along  the  road.  Everything  had  been 
carried  off  or  destroyed.  Even  the  people  were 
gone.  We  found  only  a  few  old  men  and 
women,  and  a  few  children,  who  came  to  us 
crying  for  food.  To  save  them  from  starving 
we  gave  them  the  bread  from  our  own  mouths. 
I  can't  tell  you  for  how  far  around  the  city  the 
land  had  been  laid  waste.  As  far  as  we  could 
see,  the  fields  were  smoking.  The  smoke  hung 
over  the  city,  nearly  suffocating  us.  We  were 
put  on  short  rations,  and  were  glad  to  kill  and 
eat  our  own  disabled  horses  and  the  few  miser- 
able beasts  which  the  Russians  had  left  behind 
them.  We  cooked  our  lean  meals  in  the  open 
squares  of  the  city.  We  grenadiers  of  the 
Guard  were  camped  on  the  square  before  the 


4°4  ®l)e  tOljite  terror 

palace  of  the  Senate.  When  wood  ran  short  we 
boiled  our  pots  over  fires  fed  with  the  gilded 
chairs  of  the  Senators. 

"Then  came  winter — a  horrible  winter  of 
darkness  and  bitter  cold!  The  sun  showed 
himself  for  no  more  than  two  hours  a  day — 
hanging  low  down  on  the  far  horizon,  pale, 
giving  out  no  heat,  like  a  big  moon.  And  with 
the  cold  always  was  hunger.  Without  sun- 
light, without  warmth,  without  bread — death 
was  not  far  away ! 

"One  night  we  were  wakened  from  our 
sleep,  as  we  lay  huddled  close  together  for 
warmth  in  the  palace  of  the  Senate,  by  what 
seemed  to  be  volley-firing;  and  as  we  opened 
our  eyes  we  were  dazzled  by  a  glare  of  brilliant 
red  light  which  poured  in  through  the  windows 
and  danced  upon  the  ceiling  and  walls.  We 
thought  that  the  enemy  must  be  upon  us.  De- 
lighted to  get  to  grips  with  him,  we  snatched 
up  our  arms  and  rushed  out  of  doors.  But  the 
enemy  that  confronted  us  was  Fire!  A  great 
wave  of  fire  thunderously  was  overwhelming 
the  city.  What  we  had  taken  for  the  sound  of 
musketry  was  the  crackling  of  houses  and 
churches  and  palaces  in  the  flames.  To  the 
heights  of  heaven  that  awful  conflagration  rose ! 

"  We  had  to  run  for  it,  and  to  run  fast.  All 
in  a  jumble — infantry,  cavalry,  artillery — we  got 
away,  the  fire  howling  after  us  so  close  that  the 
backs  of  our  necks  were  singed.  Suddenly  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendous 
rush  of  water.  On  one  side  of  us  the  enemy 
had  started  the  fire.  On  the  other  side  he  had 
turned  the  river  into  the  streets.  We  were 


3nto  a  Desert  Conb  405 

caught  between  the  two — and  there  went  up 
from  that  confused  and  bewildered  multitude  a 
great  woeful  cry.  Some  of  the  horses,  fairly  mad- 
dened, turned  backward  and  plunged  with  their 
riders  into  the  flames.  For  an  instant  horse  and 
man  would  flare  up  like  tow,  and  then  would 
be  a  black  twisting  thing  that  dwindled  to 
nothing  in  the  blaze.  That's  the  way  it  must 
be  in  the  seven  throats  of  hell! 

"  The  water  was  up  to  our  waists,  and  how 
we  got  through  it  and  away  from  the  fire  I'm 
sure  1  don't  know.  But  we  managed,  somehow 
or  other,  to  do  both — and  at  last  found  ourselves 
on  a  little  height  where  the  fire  could  not  follow 
us  and  where  the  water  could  not  come.  We 
made  no  halt.  There  was  nothing  to  halt  for. 
In  the  city  that  so  coldly  had  sheltered  us,  every- 
thing was  destroyed.  Our  one  chance  was 
to  go  out  again  by  the  road  that  had  brought 
us  into  that  desert  land.  Again  the  Emperor 
led  us,  surrounded  by  his  flags  and  his  eagles. 
By  the  huge  light  of  burning  Moscow  we  saw 
him  at  the  head  of  our  column — wearing  his 
white  coat,  seated  on  his  white  horse — a  pale 
figure  cut  out  against  the  black  sky!  " 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

THE    RETREAT    FROM    MOSCOW 

"ALL  that  night,"  the  soldier  continued, 
"  we  went  onward.  When  day  came  we  saw 
two  fires  off  there  on  the  horizon,  and  we 
couldn't  tell  which  was  the  red  burning  Mos- 
cow and  which  was  the  red  rising  sun.  Nor 
did  we  care.  Already  we  were  careless  of 
everything  but  our  own  pain. 

"  On  and  on  we  marched,  our  flesh  whipped 
blue  by  the  bitter  wind.  Great  clouds  came 
down  from  the  north  and  discharged  upon  us 
their  lading  of  snow.  Behind  the  clouds  the 
pale  sun  was  lost  wholly.  From  the  fallen 
snow  came  a  faint  and  ghastly  light  by  which 
we  went  on  our  way.  Only  we  had  no  way. 
At  first  the  snow  was  to  our  ankles,  then  it 
was  to  our  calves,  then  it  was  to  our  knees.  As 
it  fell  it  blinded  us  like  needles,  blown  by  the 
cruel  wind  that  froze  our  very  marrow;  and  in 
the  strange  pale  light  of  it  we  could  not  tell 
when  the  night  was  with  us  and  when  the  day. 
From  time  to  time  one  of  us,  worn  out  with 
cold  and  hunger,  would  stagger  a  little  and  then 
pitch  face  downward  into  the  snow.  Nobody 
turned  to  pick  him  up.  When  we  had  marched 
on  and  left  him  we  could  hear  the  howling  of 
406 


(£l)e  UetreiU  from  iftoscoto          4°7 

the  wolves.  But  we  were  not  utterly  hopeless, 
because  our  officers  told  us  that  when  we  got 
to  Smolensk  we  would  find  food  in  plenty, 
along  with  shelter  from  the  cold.  We  were  too 
glad  to  believe  them,  and  we  looked  forward  to 
Smolensk  as  to  Paradise. 

"Well,  we  got  to  Smolensk — and  the  little 
black  bread  that  we  found  there  served  us  for 
just  a  single  day!  Then  on  we  went  again — for 
we  had  to  go  on,  it  was  our  only  chance!  On 
we  went,  1.  say,  over  that  endless  white  plain 
under  that  endless  grey  sky.  More  and  more  of 
our  men  staggered  out  from  the  ranks,  fell  into 
the  snow  silently,  and  were  left  there  for  the 
wolves.  When  our  horses  died  the  wolves  did 
not  get  a  chance  to  eat  them — we  were  thankful 
to  eat  them  ourselves.  But  they  were  lean 
eating — having  themselves  been  feeding  upon 
nothing  more  nourishing  than  each  others'  tails 
and  manes. 

"At  last  we/ reached  the  banks  of  a  river 
called  the  Berezina,  and  there  we  had  trouble. 
In  September,  in  good  weather,  when  we  were 
well  fed,  we  had  crossed  that  river  as  jolly  as 
fish;  but  late  in  November,  in  icy  winter,  when 
we  were  famished,  the  crossing  was  another 
story.  To  be  waist-deep  in  that  ice-cold  cur- 
rent, battling  with  great  masses  of  floating  ice, 
was  a  close  fight  with  death  for  starving  men. 
The  Emperor  ordered  a  bridge  to  be  thrown 
across  the  river;  and  from  a  pine  forest  growing 
on  its  banks  we  soon  got  out  all  the  timber  that 
the  engineers  wanted.  But  just  as  we  were 
starting  our  bridge  there  came  down  on  us  from 
the  bluffs  above  the  river  a  tremendous  hail  of 


terror 


lead  and  iron.  Guided,  as  the  wolves  were,  by 
the  trail  of  dead  that  we  left  behind  us;  the 
Russians  had  been  following  our  army  in  the 
hope  of  just  such  a  chance  as  they  had  found. 
There  they  were,  fighting  away  with  us — with 
all  the  odds  on  their  side!  They  were  at  their 
ease  on  the  heights  above  us.  We  were 
crowded  together  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  as 
good  a  target  as  need  be  for  their  plunging  fire. 
Marshal  Ney  did  his  best  to  dislodge  them  with 
his  weak  cavalry ;  and  while  he  fought  them  we 
went  on  with  our  bridge-building — and  nice 
work  we  had  of  it:  standing  in  that  ghastly  cold 
water,  in  peril  of  death  from  the  floating  ice,  in 
peril  of  death  from  the  Russian  fire! 

"As  for  me,  I  got  relieved  from  duty  in  a 
very  extraordinary  way.  I  was  hammering 
down  a  pile  which  two  men  held  steady  against 
the  fierce  current,  and  in  order  to  hammer  it 
I  was  standing  on  a  beam  which  two  other 
men  held  fast.  Down  the  river  I  saw  coming  a 
huge  block  of  ice,  heading  straight  for  us.  I 
sung  out  to  the  men  to  dive  and  let  the  mass  of 
ice  pass  over. them.  But  they  were  not  quick 
enough.  In  an  instant  the  saw-like  edges  of  the 
ice  had  cut  off  their  heads  and  the  heads  were 
frozen  fast  to  the  ice-raft.  The  beam  on  which 
I  was  standing  was  broken  by  the  shock  and  I 
barely  had  time  to  leap  on  the  block  of  ice — 
and  so  to  be  carried  down  with  the  heads  of  my 
four  comrades  on  the  bow  of  my  horrible  raft! 

"On  1  was  rushed  by  the  swift  current 
helped  by  the  bitter  wind.  I  lost  sight  of  the 
army  very  quickly.  The  sound  of  the  firing 
grew  fainter  as  I  was  whirled  down  the  stream. 


je  Uetreot  from  XUoscotD          409 


At  last  my  ice-raft  grounded,  and  I  got  on  shore 
again  more  dead  than  alive.  I  had  no  arms  but 
a  pistol,  I  had  only  the  clothes  that  I  stood  in  to 
protect  me  against  the  dreadful  cold.  '  Keep  up 
your  spirit! '  I  said  to  myself.  '  A  grenadier  of 
the  Guard  must  never  give  in ! '  And  so  off  I 
started  to  catch  up  with  the  army.  I  had  not 
the  sound  of  the  firing  to  guide  me.  That  had 
stopped,  and  I  concluded  that  our  men  had 
beaten  the  Russians  off. 

"Well,  in  that  wilderness  of  snow  it  didn't 
take  long  for  me  to  lose  myself.  Presently  I 
could  not  tell  anything  about  where  I  was 
going,  and  I  just  trusted  to  luck  and  walked  on 
and  on.  Now  and  then  I  would  pull  a  handful 
of  dry  grass  from  under  the  snow  and  chew  it 
to  keep  down  the  pangs  of  hunger;  but  I  got 
weaker  and  weaker  as  I  was  more  and  more 
starved  with  hunger  and  with  cold.  After  a 
while  1  saw  what  1  took  to  be  a  very  big  black 
object  a  long  way  off.  I  fancied  it  to  be  as  big 
as  the  Kremlin  in  Moscow,  as  I  saw  it  rising 
up  before  me  out  of  the  snow.  But  instead  of 
being  big  and  far  away  it  was  small  and  near 
to  me.  Almost  in  a  moment  I  had  come  up 
with  it,  and  it  proved  to  be  the  dead  body  of  a 
horse  honeycombed  by  the  gnawings  of  the 
wolves.  Famished,  1  flung  myself  upon  it, 
hoping  to  find  some  scraps  of  flesh.  But  it  is 
ill  gleaning  after  the  wolves:  there  was  nothing 
left  but  skin  and  bone. 

"With  the  anguish  of  death  upon  me  I  laid 
myself  down  beside  the  carcass,  which  at  least 
sheltered  me  a  little  from  the  biting  wind.  Hope 
had  left  me,  and  I  was  ready  to  die,  when  I  saw 


410  i£l)e  tOljitc  Ccrror 

coming  toward  me  a  hairy  monster  that  I  took 
at  first  to  be  a  bear  but  that  I  soon  saw  was  a 
fur-clad  man.  He  held  a  long  stick,  a  sort  of 
Cossack's  lance,  in  his  hand  and  was  coming 
straight  for  me.  I  still  had  strength  enough  to 
draw  my  pistol,  and  with  my  numb  fingers  I 
managed  to  cock  it.  Just  as  I  was  going  to  fire, 
he  threw  aside  the  muffling  of  furs  from  about 
his  head  and  I  saw  the  gentle  and  kindly  old 
face  of  a  Russian  pope.  With  a  friendly  smile 
in  his  blue  eyes  he  pointed  with  his  free  hand  to 
the  Greek  cross  that  he  wore  upon  his  breast, 
and  as  he  evidently  meant  me  no  harm  I  let  my 
pistol  fall  upon  the  snow.  And  then,  all  of  a 
sudden,  a  mist  came  before  my  eyes,  and  what 
little  strength  1  had  left  oozed  out  of  me,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  certainly  was  going  to  die. 
1  surely  should  have  died  but  for  the  help  that 
that  kind  old  man  gave  me.  From  his  own 
body  he  stripped  his  fur  coat  and  wrapped  me 
in  it — and  then  with  his  breath  and  with  chafing 
he  strove  to  warm  my  hands. 

"Years  and  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  little 
lad,  the  Bishop  of  Mendes  gave  me  a  medal  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Bon  Secours,  saying  to  me: 
'  When  you  are  in  dire  peril  of  death,  take  out 
this  medal  and  the  good  Mother  will  rescue 
you.'  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  never  could  be  in 
direr  peril  of  death  than  I  was  just  then,  and 
while  the  good  pope  was  comforting  me  I 
slipped  my  hand  into  my  pocket  and  brought 
out  the  medal.  He  took  "it  from  me  and  kissed 
it  reverently.  Then  he  unslung  from  his  neck 
a  little  flask  and  gave  me  a  drink  of  a  strong 
cordial  that  was  a  veritable  elixir  of  life.  As 


®l)e  lletreat  from  Ifloscoro          411 

that  cordial  got  down  into  my  stomach  and 
warmed  me  1  suddenly  felt  as  though  I  were 
made  over  new.  And  then  that  blessed  old 
man  brought  from  his  wallet  a  loaf  of  bread  that 
I  simply  devoured!  I  was  quite  mysef  again. 
My  eyes  could  see  clearly  and  my  legs  were 
strong. 

"The  good  old  pope  wanted  to  give  me 
back  my  miraculous  medal — but  it  had  worked 
its  miracle  for  me,  and  I  signed  to  him  to  keep 
it  as  a  token  of  my  thankfulness  and  goodwill. 
And  so  he  kissed  it  again  in  sign  that  he  ac- 
cepted it — and  by  way  of  showing  me  still 
more  of  his  goodness  and  charity  he  hung  the 
little  flask  of  wonderful  cordial  about  my  neck 
and  gave  me  another  loaf  of  bread  out'of  his 
leather  bag.  He  pointed  out  the  way  in  which 
I  should  go  in  order  to  find  my  comrades,  and 
at  the  last,  after  he  had  embraced  me,  he  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  on  my  forehead  with  his 
thumb — just  exactly  as  the  Bishop  of  Mendes 
had  done  when,  so  long  ago,  he  gave  me  the 
medal  on  the  bridge  of  Saint-Jean  d'Ardieres! 

"Off  I  went  as  lively  as  a  cricket — and 
within  two  hours  after  that'miraculous  meeting  I 
caught  up  with  the  army  again  and  was  in  my 
place  in  the  van-guard  close  to  the  Emperor. 
My  comrades,  who  were  sure  that  f  was  dead, 
made  such  an  outcry  over  me  that  the  Emperor 
himself  turned  and  saluted  me!  Think  of  that, 
my  Sisters!  The  Emperor,  the  Great  Napoleon, 
raised  his  hand  and  saluted  me!  And  just 
didn't  the  boys  shout  over  it!  'Vive  Pascalet! 
Vive  Pascalet"! '  they  roared." 


CHAPTER   XLV 

"  FAREWELL,    PASCALET  !  " 

As  Pascalet  spoke  these  words,  which  sud- 
denly revealed  his  identity,  a  cry  rang  out  be- 
hind the  curtain  and  Adeline  fell  fainting  into 
Mother  Scholastica's  arms.  Instantly  there  was 
a  bustle  of  confused  movement,  and  with  it  a 
bustle  of  more  confused  talk. 

' '  Heavens !     She's  fainting !  " 

"Carry  her  into  the  chapel  and  lay  her  at 
the  feet  of  Saint  Ursula!  " 

"  Call  the  Father  Confessor!  " 

"  Great  Saint  Marys  of  the  Sea,  take  her  soul 
into  your  keeping! " 

"We  must  get  her  to  bed  at  once!  "  This 
last  from  the  practical  Sister  Margai. 

Hearing  all  this  stir,  Pascalet  could  not  re- 
sist the  temptation  to  raise  the  curtain  a  little 
that  he  might  see  what  was  the  matter.  What 
he  saw  was  a  nun  being  borne  away  in  the  arms 
of  her  cornpanions.  For  an  instant  he  had  a 
glimpse  of  a  death-pale  face  so  lovely  and  so 
beautiful  that  sight  of  it  set  his  heart  in  a  whirl. 
Then  she  was  gone! 

Monsieur  Peru  was  called  in  from  reading  his 

breviary  in  the  garden  to  minister  to  the  welfare 

of  this  troubled  Sister's  soul.     He  was  startled 

by  finding  her  in   anything  but  the  collapsed 

412 


"  .farewell,  fJascalet ! "  413 

state  that  the  frightened  Sister  who  called  him 
had  described.  Her  faint  was  past,  and  the 
ebbing  tide  of  her  life  had  flowed  back  strong 
and  full.  Her  cheeks  were  a  rich  red,  her  beau- 
tiful large  eyes  had  a  flame  in  them  that  made 
the  Father  Confessor  cast  his  own  eyes  down. 
In  a  tremble  of  excitement  she  fell  on  her  knees 
before  him  and  cried:  ''  Holy  priest  of  a  merci- 
ful God,  hear  the  confession  of  the  most  unhappy 
of  the  Sisters  of  Saint  Ursula  of  Jesus!  In  my 
poor  heart  is  a  love  as  piercing  as  a  thorn  from 
the  sacred  Crown.  Since  I  was  a  child  of  fifteen 
years  I  have  known  that  love's  sweet  bitterness, 
the  sting  of  that  dear  thorn !  Ah,  foolish  have  I 
been!  I  thought  that  I  could  hide  away  from 
it  behind  Saint  Ursula's  veil.  I  thought  that  in 
eating  the  angel's  bread  of  the  Holy  Sacrament 
I  would  forget  the  taste  of  the  biead  of  love.  I 
thought  that  the  cry  of  my  longing  flesh  would 
be  silenced  by  the  cry  of  my  spirit  before  the 
altars.  I  thought  that  I  should  forget  my  earthly 
bridegroom  when  I  became  the  bride  of  Christ! 

"  But  oh,  my  Father,  I  have  forgotten  noth- 
ing, and  the  thorn  ever  has  sunk  deeper  and 
deeper  into  my  heart.  To-day  all  my  blood 
cries  out  in  love-hunger,  and  my  soul  chants  not 
holy  anthems  before  the  altar  but  is  lost  in  pas- 
sionate song.  For  to-day  my  earthly  bride- 
groom has  come  back  to  me;  and  what  I  am 
forgetting — oh  help  me!  help  me  to  grace  and 
mercy ! — what  I  am  forgetting  is  my  promise  to 
my  God!  " 

Monsieur  Peru,  old  and  wise  and  abounding 
in  charity,  had  learned  in  the  course  of  his  long 
and  good  life  how  to  touch  aching  hearts  with 


414  ®l)e  tDhite  (Terror 


a  loving  tenderness  that  gave  sure  solace  to  their 
pain.  "My  chil^,"  he  said  gently,  "for  every 
sin  there  is  the  mercy  of  forgiveness.  Despair 
not.  To  your  soul  the  peace  of  God  will  return 
again,  and  your  heart-hurt  will  be  healed  by  the 
balm  of  prayer." 

"Never!  Never!"  cried  Adeline  wildly. 
"For  my  pain  there  is  but  one  balm,  for  my 
hurt  there  is  but  one  cure.  In  death  alone  can 
I  find  rest  and  ease!  " 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  good  priest,  speak- 
ing very  gravely,  "do  you  doubt  the  infinite 
goodness  of  God  ?  " 

"If  His  goodness  be  infinite,"  Adeline  re- 
sponded quickly,  "let  Him  give  me  that  which 
will  calm  my  pain;  and  then  let  Him  cure  it  by 
taking  me  to  Himself  !  " 

"What  is  it  that  will  calm  your  pain,  my 
daughter  ?  If  what  you  desire  may  be  had  by 
a  remission  of  your  rules — not  of  your  vows — 
you  shall  have  it.  Your  rules  were  prescribed, 
and  may  be  relaxed,  by  man.  Your  vows,  be- 
ing taken  of  your  own  choice,  are  the  inflexible 
will  of  God." 

"My  Father,"  Adeline  said  eagerly,  while 
her  downcast  eyes  grew  still  brighter  and  her 
cheeks  a  warmer  crimson,  "may  Saint  Ursula — 
whom  I  may  be  setting  to  weeping  in  heaven 
— pardon  me  for  what  I  ask  of  you;  and  may 
God  pardon  me — and  send  me  death  quickly 
when  you  have  granted  me  my  prayer."  She 
paused  for  a  moment  and  then,  hiding  her  glow- 
ing face  in  her  hands,  continued  falteringly: 
"  My  earthly  bridegroom  has  come  back  to  me. 
He  is  here,  close  beside  me — under  this  very 


,  fJascalet!"  415 


roof.  What  I  ask  is  that  I  may  touch  for  one 
single  moment  his  dear  hand;  that  I  may  say  to 
him  one  single  word:  'Farewell!'  If  that  much 
may  be  granted  to  me,  dear  Father,  I  give  you 
my  promise  that  with  the  scourge  I  will  conquer 
my  flesh,  and  that  hence  onward  until  my  death 
I  will  remain  the  faithful  spouse  of  Jesus  my 
Lord!" 

Out  of  the  very  depths  of  her  heart  she  had 
asked  for  this  mercy  and  she  waited  in  agony 
for  her  reply.  She  had  no  long  suspense.  In  a 
moment  Monsieur  Peru  answered  her,  speaking 
very  gently  and  tenderly:  "My  daughter,  you 
may  be  sure  that  Saint  Ursula  is  smiling  lovingly 
upon  you  and  that  our  Lord  Jesus  blesses  you. 
Dry  your  eyes  and  praise  God.  Without  fear 
of  damnation,  or  even  of  the  pains  of  purgatory, 
you  may  have  what  you  desire.  You  may 
touch  the  hand  of  him  whom  you  love  while 
you  say  farewell  to  him  ;  but  you  may  neither 
see  him  nor  be  seen  by  him,  nor  in  any  way 
make  yourself  known  to  him  —  and  this  is  rather 
for  his  sake  than  for  yours.  It  would  be  cruel 
that  the  quenching  of  the  flame  which  is  in  your 
heart  should  be  won  at  the  cost  of  filling  his 
heart  with  a  hopeless  fire!  " 

Quite  overcome  by  the  joy  that  this  permis- 
sion gave  her,  Adeline  laughed  and  cried  in  the 
same  breath  and  was  unable  to  utter  a  single 
word  of  thanks.  To  set  her  at  ease  Monsieur 
Peru  spoke  to  her  in  a  lighter  tone.  "After  all, 
my  child,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  out  his  snuff- 
box, "your  scruples,  since  there  is  no  possibil- 
ity of  sin  in  this  matter,  are  rather  too  finely 
drawn.  You  are  almost  as  bad,"  he  went  oh 


416  ®lje  toljite  terror 

with  a  smile,  "  as  that  goose  of  a  Sister  Margai: 
who  woke  me  up  at  four  o'clock  the  other 
morning  to  confess  what  she  said  was  a  sin  of 
gluttony — and  which  turned  out  to  be  a  desire 
to  eat  some  grapes  that  she  had  seen  on  an 
arbour  but  had  not  even  touched!  "  And  with 
these  words  he  snuffed  the  snuff  into  his  nostrils 
and  went  sneezing  away,  leaving  Adeline  radi- 
antly happy — but  hardly  knowing  whether  she 
were  dreaming  or  had  heard  true. 

Her  happy  doubts  were  not  long  lasting. 
In  a  few  moments,  sent  by  Monsieur  Peru, 
Mother  Scholastica  came  to  her  cell  and  said 
briskly  as  she  opened  the  door:  "Hurry,  Sister, 
if  you  want  to  say  good-bye  to  our  soldier. 
He's  going  now."  And  then  she  stopped  short 
— a  little  surprised  by  finding  Adeline  bending 
over  the  chest  in  which  she  kept  her  belongings, 
and  the  contents  of  the  chest  for  the  most  part 
strewn  upon  the  floor.  There  was  her  black 
trock  with  its  trimming  of  Paris  lace,  her  fichu, 
her  young  girl's  cape,  and — most  precious  of  all 
— the  boy's  clothes  which  had  been  Pascalet's 
and  which  later  had  been  her  own.  All  of  these 
garments  were  folded  with  an  exquisite  neat- 
ness. From  them  came  a  delicious  odour  of 
lavender.  She  touched  them  in  the  reverent 
fashion  that  she  would  have  touched  holy  relics. 
Her  eyes  were  soft  with  tears.  As  the  Mother 
Superior  entered  the  cell  she  had  unfolded  Pas- 
calet's little  carmagnole,  the  jacket  of  the  pre- 
cious suit  of  clothes,  and  was  feeling  for  some- 
thing in  the  pocket.  Confused  at  being  come 
upon  when  thus  employed,  she  blushed  and 
looked  down. 


".farewell,  fJascaiet!"  417 

"Are  you  looking  for  something,  Sister? 
Can  I  help  you  ?  "  Mother  Scholastica  asked  in  a 
kindly  tone  that  set  Adeline  at  her  ease. 

"Thank  you,  reverend  Mother,"  she  an- 
swered, as  she  drew  from  the  pocket  of  the 
jacket  a  little  object  that  she  held  hidden  in  her 
hand,  "  I  have  just  finished.  I  am  ready  now." 
Her  voice  broke  a  little  as  she  spoke.  Under 
her  white  wimple  her  heart  was  beating  fast. 
She  swayed  in  her  walk,  and  was  thankful  to 
have  the"  support  of  Mother  Scholastica's  arm. 
Together  they  went  through  the  corridors  to  the 
parlour,  and  heard  as  they  entered  it  Pascalet's 
clear  rich  voice  as  he  spoke  to  Sister  Margai. 
But  the  black  curtain  was  drawn  close  over  the 
grating,  and  while  Adeline  could  hear  she  could 
not  see. 

"Brave  soldier,"  said  the  Mother  Superior, 
"I  have  brought  to  say  good-bye  to  you  the 
Sister  who  fainted  a  little  while  ago.  We  did 
not  wish  you  to  go  away  thinking  that  your 
story  of  the  wars  had  made  her  ill." 

Pascalet  brought  his  hands  together  with  a 
cheerful  clap,  and  said  heartily:  "  Holy  woman 
of  God,  that  is  real  thoughtfulness!  You  don't 
know  how  much  good  you're  doing  me.  I'm 
just  as  much  obliged  to  you  as  I  can  be — and  if 
it  wasn't  for  this  confounded  grating  I'd  prove 
it  to  you  with  a  good  hug!  It  worried  me  to 
think  of  that  poor  nun  fainting  that  way.  1 
should  have  hated  to  have  gone  away  without 
knowing  that  she  was  all  right  again — as  I  do 
now." 

"Thank  you,  brave  soldier  Pascalet,"  said 
Adeline,  "for  your  kind  thought  about  me; 


4i 8  STlje  iX)l)ite  terror 

and  since  you  were  troubled  a  little  on  my  ac- 
count I  am  very  glad  that  I  have  come  to  say 
good-bye  to  you.  I  have  a  little  present  for 
you.  With  the  permission  of  our  reverend 
Mother,  here  beside  me,  I  give  to  you  these  three 
little  silver  crowns.  Perhaps  you  may  be 
pleased  to  buy  with  them  something  that  will 
please  your  old  mother.  You  must  tell  her  that 
in  the  Convent  of  Saint  Ursula  of  Avignon  there 
is  a  Sister  who  night  and  morning  never  will 
fail  to  pray  for  her  and  'for  her  handsome  boy 
Pascalet.  You  must  tell  her " 

"Forgive  me,  holy  woman,"  Pascalet  inter- 
rupted, "but  why  should  you  give  these  three 
crowns  to  me  ?  Keep  them  for  your  convent." 

"No,  no!  They  are  for  you.  They  are 
yours.  Take  them.  Remember,  I  am  under 
the  vow  of  poverty,  and  for  me  to  keep  them 
would  be  a  black  sin.  Soldier  Pascalet,  you 
would  not  wish  me  to  commit  sin  ?  Come,  if 
you  will  not  take  them  for  yourself,  you  will 
not  refuse  to  take  them  for  your  old  mother  ?  " 

"Oh,  for  my  mother — that  is  another  mat- 
ter. For  her  I  cannot  refuse  them.  I  take  them 
gladly.  Ah,  my  dear  old  mother!  Who  knows 
if  1  shall  find  her  still  alive?  I  was  fifteen  years 
old  when  I  left  her — and  that  was  twenty  years 
ago !  Think  of  it,  for  twenty  years  1  have  not 
seen  my  mother!  Even  if  she  be  living,  she 
will  not  know  me — me,  her  son!  " 

As  he  spoke,  Pascalet  grasped  Adeline's 
slender  hand  in  his  two  strong  hands  and  kissed 
it  and  wept  over  it  as  though  it  had  been  the 
hand  of  his  mother.  Burning  hot  it  was  as  he 
pressed  it  and  kissed  it!  Adeline  was  thrilled 


"  -faretoeli,  flascalet!"  419 

from  head  to  foot  by  this  caress  of  her  Pascalet. 
She  trembled  as  in  a  fever  as  his  silky  mustache 
brushed  softly  against  her  hand  and  against  her 
delicate  white  wrist.  At  last,  reluctantly,  he 
relinquished  that  burning  hand — and  as  it  was 
withdrawn  behind  the  black  curtain  the  three 
silver  crowns  fell  ringing  to  the  floor  at  his  feet. 
Then  from  behind  the  iron  grating  that  the  cur- 
tain covered  came  a  sweet  voice  saying:  "  Fare- 
well, Pascalet!  Forever,  farewell!" 

"God  keep  you,  my  Sister,"  Pascalet  an- 
swered; "and  may  He  reward  you  for  all  that 
you  have  done  to  me!  " 

On  the  inner  side  of  the  grating  there  was 
the  sound  of  soft  footsteps  retreating.  Pascalet 
noticed,  with  ears  trained  to  the  cadence  of 
rhythmic  marching,  that  the  footsteps  went  ir- 
regularly. But  he  turned  from  the  grating 
without  giving  the  matter  a  second  thought. 

Sister  Margai  had  picked  up  the  three  crowns. 
She  handed  them  to  him,  but  she  did  not  ven- 
ture to  look  at  him  nor  to  speak.  To  her  the 
whole  of  that  lightly-passing  tragedy  had  been 
clear  and  her  heart  was  bursting  with  pity  and 
with  grief.  Still  without  speaking,  she  unbarred 
the  door  and  held  it  open.  "Good-bye,  dear 
kind  Sister,"  Pascalet  said  to  her — and  so  stepped 
across  the  threshold  and  was  gone.  When  she 
had  closed  the  door  behind  him  she  burst  out 
crying  like  a  child.  Adeline  was  very  dear  to 
her,  and  she  wept  for  Adeline's  unhappy  love — 
a  love  that  was  hopeless  enough  to  die  of ! 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

THE   WHITE   FLAG   OF   SHAME 

DUSK  was  falling  as  Pascalet  came  out  upon 
the  Rue  Annanelle  and  headed  resolutely  for  the 
Place  du  Grand  Paradis.  He  knew  the  danger 
that  he  risked,  wearing  the  uniform  of  a  soldier 
of  the  Empire,  in  walking  the  streets  of  Avignon. 
He  knew  what  was  likely  to  happen  to  him 
should  he  be  caught  again  by  the  dogs  of  the 
nobility,  the  murderers  of  Marshal  Brune.  But 
he  who  had  dared  death  for  twenty  years  on  the 
great  battlefields  of  Europe  was  not  to  be  fright- 
ened from  his  purpose  by  the  hounds  of  the 
White  Terror.  To  see  Vauclair  and  Lazuli  and 
Clairet  again — Clairet,  almost  a  man  grown  by 
this  time — he  would  have  fought  his  wav  through 
an  army!  Little  did  he  know  that  Clairet,  on 
the  very  day  of  his  home-coming,  had  been 
slain  by  Papalists  and  traitors  and  cast  into  the 
Rhone!  And  so,  with  his  hand  on  the  loaded 
pistol  stuck  in  his  sash,  the  dusk  favouring  him, 
Pascalet  walked  on  firmly  toward  the  home  of 
his  friends. 

The  August  evening  was  clear  and  warm. 
Up  in  the  elm  trees  in  the  little  parks  the  cigales 
still  were  singing.  Children  were  playing  in 
the  streets.  Groups  of  women  sat  in  the  door- 
ways, fanning  themselves  with  their  aprons  and 


iX)l)ite  £[a%  of  Sl)atnc  421 


trying  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  Pascalet 
walked  with  his  head  bent  down,  without  look- 
ing about  him  —  that  he  might  not  see  floating 
from  almost  every  window  the  hated  fleur- 
de-lys:  the  flag  of  traitors,  of  the  friends  of 
the  Germans  and  Austrians  —  the  white  flag 
of  shame!  Everywhere  hung  this  rag  of  na- 
tional dishonour:  on  the  public  places,  in  the 
streets,  even  in  the  little  alleys.  From  the  doors 
and  windows  of  rich  and  poor  were  out-thrust 
its  guilty  folds!  His  blood  boiled  at  the  thought 
that  it  waved  above  him.  Only  by  a  great 
effort  could  he  keep  himself  from  shouting: 
"  Down  with  the  cowards  and  traitors!  Down 
with  the  King!  " 

"  Isn't  that  man  wearing  the  uniform  of  Bona- 
parte's brigands  ?"  he  heard  a  woman  say  as  he 
passed  one  of  the  doorway  groups. 

"He  can't  be,"  another  answered.  "He 
wouldn't  dare  to  show  himself  that  way  in  the 
streets  of  Avignon." 

"If  he  is,"  said  a  third,  "it  won't  be  long 
before  a  patrol  will  be  making  him  swallow  the 
soup  with  twelve  plums  in  it!  " 

"To  think,"  said  a  fourth,  "that  such 
wretches  could  be  found  to  fight  against  our 
good  allies  —  the  Germans  and  the  Austrians  and 
the  English  !  Monsters  like  that  cannot  be  born 
of  women  —  they  must  have  been  brought  forth 
in  a  pig-sty!  " 

Pascalet  heard  these  words  without  realizing 
their  meaning;  without  perceiving  that  the  mon- 
ster these  women  were  talking  about  was  him- 
self ! 

On  the  Plan  de  Lunel  he  came  upon  a  faran- 


422  (Jl)c  tOljite  terror 


dole  made  up  of  children — for  the  most  part 
little  tots  of  three  and  four  years  old.  They 
carried  white  flags,  and  as  they  farandoled  gaily 
their  shrill  little  voices  piped  out: 

"  No  one  shall  we  spare  ! 
So  Trestaillon  commands." 

On  the  Place  de  1'Horloge,  when  he  came  to 
it,  he  found  matters  still  worse.  There  the 
Whites  of  Avignon  were  assembled  in  force; 
and  there  this  poor  brave  soldier — who  had 
risked  his  life  in  a  hundred  battles  with  foreign 
foes — saw  the  ladies  of  the  nobility  and  of  the 
bourgeoisie  welcome  with  hand-clapping  and 
cries  of  "  Vive  le  roi!"  two  battalions  of  Ger- 
mans and  Austrians  who  had  just  arrived  to  oc- 
cupy the  city.  Shame  and  confusion! 

Poor  Pascalet  saw  those  good-for-nothing 
marchionesses  and  countesses  fling  themselves 
upon  the  necks  of  the  more  or  less  drunken 
Germans  and  Austrians  smelling  of  rancid  pork 
— the  characteristic  odour  of  that  red-haired  race ! 
He  saw  these  women  putting  their  hands  upon 
the  arms  of  the  soldiers  and  drawing  them  into 
their  houses.  Following  them  were  the  cow- 
ards who  had  skulked  in  caves  and  in  forests 
when  France  was  in  danger.  Those  identical 
cowardly  deserters  carried  the.  knapsacks  and 
the  muskets  of  the  Prussian  soldiers  and  fol- 
lowed like  lackeys  their  wives  linked  arm-in- 
arm with  those  dirty-beards!  Never,  since  the 
world  was  a  world,  did  any  nation  swallow 
such  shame! 

From  everywhere  on  the  Place  de  1'Horloge 


®[je  tttyite  .flag  of  Scarce  423 

rose  shouts  of  "Long  live  the  King!"  "Long 
live  the  Allies! "  With  these  was  roared  out: 

"  No  one  shall  we  spare  ! 
So  Trestaillon  commands. 
Death  to  Republicans — 
Who  all  are  rogues." 

Such  was  the  excitement  caused  by  the  coming 
of  the  foreign  soldiers  that  no  one  noticed  the 
brave  fellow  wearing  the  red  epaulettes  of  the 
Grand  Army  of  France.  That  was  good  luck 
for  him.  Had  they  realized  what  uniform  he 
wore  they  would  have  torn  him  to  pieces — and 
thrown  his  fragments  into  the  Rhone  to  keep 
company  with  Marshal  Brune. 

Confounded  by  what  he  saw,  his  heart  filled 
with  rage,  Pascalet  went  by  the  dark  Rue 
de  la  Poulasseri  toward  Vauclair's  home.  He 
met  no  more  Austrians  or  Germans;  and  the 
white  flag — which  at  first  flaunted  him  every- 
where— was  less  in  evidence  as  he  neared  the 
Place  du  Grand  Paradis.  As  he  walked  on  rap- 
idly he  said  to  himself:  "  What  can  the  Reds  of 
the  Midi  be  thinking  about  ?  Where  is  the  Na- 
tional Guard?  Where  is  Berigot — who,  when 
he  crossed  himself,  used  to  say :  '  In  the  name 
of  Liberty  and  Equality  and  Fraternity! '  ?  And 
Vauclair  and  Peloux  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
Marseilles  Battalion,  surely  they  cannot  all  be 
dead?" 

But  these  thoughts  were  forgotten  as  he 
came  out  upon  the  little  Place  and  looked  up 
eagerly,  hoping  to  see  in  those  well-remem- 
bered windows  a  friendly  light.  Yet  he  could 
not  see  very  clearly.  In  anticipation  of  this 


424  ®l)£  tDl)ite 


happy  meeting,  after  a  parting  of  twenty  years, 
tears  dimmed  his  eyes  and  his  heart  was  beat- 
ing hard. 

He  stopped  short,  while  there  went  through 
him  a  pang  of  pain  keen  as  that  of  a  knife- 
thrust.  •  There  was  no  light  in  the  windows  — 
because  there  were  no  windows!  Before  him 
in  the  dusk  was  only  the  charred  skeleton  of 
what  had  been  so  warm-hearted  a,  living  home. 
Four  blackened  and  partly  fallen  walls  remained, 
a  curiously-clinging  scrap  of  the  tiled  roof,  a  few 
charred  ends  of  beams.  That  was  all!  Stand- 
ing before  that  doorway  which  had  opened  to 
give  him  such  generous  shelter,  he  looked 
through  it  —  and  through  where  floors  and  roof 
had  been  —  right  upward  to  the  stars! 

He  was  overwhelmed  !  confounded  !  stunned  ! 
As  he  rallied  a  little  the  thought  came  to  him 
that  he  might  not  be  in  the  Place  du  Grand 
Paradis  at  all.  But  a  glance  about  him  sufficed 
to  put  that  faint  hope  to  flight.  There  was  the 
chapel  of  the  Violet  Penitents  where  the  Patriot 
Club  used  to  hold  its  meetings;  there  was  the 
potter's  house;  there  were  the  shops  of  the 
butcher  and  the  fishmonger;  there  was  every- 
thing just  as  he  remembered  it  —  save  the  one 
thing  that  he  remembered  best  of  all  !  And  then 
to  his  bitterness  of  sorrow  was  added  the  bitter- 
ness of  shame.  From  the  distant  crowd  sounded 
faintly  shouts  of  '  '  Long  live  the  Allies  !  "  "  Long 
live  the  King!  "  With  these  hateful  cries  came 
the  sound  of  children's  voices,  near  him,  sing- 
ing: 

"  No  one  shall  we  spare  ! 
So  Trestaillon  commands." 


tOljite  flag  of  Sljame  425 


His  heart  full  almost  to  breaking,  he  turned 
from  that  desolate  place  and  walked  quickly 
away  through  the  darkness.  Passing  across 
the  Place  des  Grands  Carmes,  along  the  Rue 
de  la  Carreterie,  he  went  out  from  the  city 
by  the  Porte  Saint-Lazare  :  and  so  found  him- 
self upon  the  high-road  by  which  he  had  come 
up  from  Malemort  to  Avignon  twenty  years 
before  —  with  Monsieur  Randoulet's  letter  in  his 
pocket,  along  with  his  fortune  of  three  silver 
crowns. 

For  a  while,  as  he  walked  onward  through 
the  warm  quiet  of  the  August  night,  troubling 
noises  followed  him.  Faintly  he  could  hear  the 
shouts  of  the  vile  creatures  who  were  welcom- 
ing the  white-coated  Austrians  and  the  green- 
coated  Germans;  less  faintly  could  he  hear  the 
shrill  voices  of  the  innocent  little  children  sing- 
ing the  foul  song  that  they  had  been  taught: 


1  No  one  shall  we  spare  ! 
So  Trestaillon  commands. 
Death  to  Republicans — 
Who  all  are  rogues  !  " 


But  as  he  went  onward  these  sounds  grew 
less  and  less — dwindling  to  the  mere  hum  of 
gadflies,  and  ceasing  altogether  when  he  had 
passed  the  oratory  of  Paradou.  Then  he  had 
with  him  only  the  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  the 
ditches  by  the  roadside  and  the  cheery  chirping 
of  the  crickets  in  the  fields.  These  were  sooth- 
ing noises,  and  as  he  listened  to  them  he  real- 
ized how  weary  he  was — weary  with  the  strain 
of  emotion  far  more  than  with  bodily  fatigue — 
and  was  glad  to  seat  himself  and  rest.  In  deso- 


426  ®t)e  tOfyite  QTerror 


late  sorrow,  his  head  held  between  his  hands, 
tears  dropping  from  his  eyes,  he  thought  of  that 
wrecked  home  in  which  Vaudair  and  Lazuli 
once  had  lived.  As  his  mind  turned  to  what 
probably  had  happened  to  them  his  blood  ran 
cold — and  then  his  desire  for  certain  knowledge, 
and  for  revenge,  aroused  in  him  a  mad  longing 
to  go  back  to  the  Place  de  1'Horloge  and  there 
to  grip  by  the  throat  the  first  Aristocrat  that  he 
could  lay  hands  on  and  to  squeeze  out  of  him 
all  that  he  could  tell.  The  end  of  it,  of  course, 
would  be  that  he  would  be  torn  to  pieces.  But 
that  did  not  matter  much — and  while  they  were 
killing  him  he  could  get  in  some  good  killing  of 
his  own  on  that  traitor  crowd ! 

As  he  raised  his  head  from  his  hands  he  was 
startled  by  seeing  in  every  direction  about  him 
great  blazing  fires.  On  the  hills  of  Vedenes,  on 
the  garigues  of  Pernes,  on  the  mountains  of 
Venasque.  ricks  and  farm-houses  were  burning. 
The  country  side  was  lighted  up  as  though  on 
the  eve  of  St.  John. 

Alas,  those  were  the  bonfires  of  the  White 
Terror!  All  Liberals,  all  Republicans,  all  sol- 
diers who  had  shielded  their  country  in  her  dan- 
ger, all  whose  sons  had  served  in  the  army, 
alike  were  punished:  their  farmsteads  robbed 
and  burned,  their  crops  destroyed,  their  vines 
uprooted,  their  olive  trees  and  their  fruit  trees 
cut  down.  And  the  poor  patriots  themselves, 
with  their  wives  and  sons  and  daughters,  were 
stabbed  to  death  with  pitchforks  and  thrown 
into  the  flames! 

Suddenly  Pascalet  realized  the  meaning  of 
these  fires — as  he  saw  men  dancing  about  a 


ite  .flag  of  Shame  427 


near-by   burning  farm-house    and  heard  them 

singing: 

"  No  one  shall  we  spare  ! 
So  Trestaillon  commands. 
Death  to  the  Republicans — 
Who  all  are  rogues  !  " 

As  he  heard  the  words  of  this  vile  song  a 
shudder  of  dread  seized  him.  What  was  being 
done  there  before  his  eyes  no  doubt  was  being 
done  elsewhere  also.  His  own  old  mother 
might  be  in  danger — because  her  son  had  fought 
for  twenty  years  for  France!  In  another  mo- 
ment he  was  walking  on  again  rapidly  toward 
Malernort.  As  he  went  onward  the  night  was 
riven  by  cries  for  help,  and  was  lighted  by 
blazing  homes.  From  Entraigues,  from  Mon- 
teux,  from  Carpentras,  rang  out  the  cruel  words : 

"So  Trestaillon  commands." 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

"AFTER  ALL  STRIVING — PEACE" 

PASCALET  had  left  Carpentras  behind  him 
when  the  sky  above  the  mountains  eastward  be- 
gan to  brighten  with  a  tender  light,  as  though  it 
were  powdered  with  green  gold.  Valley  and  plain 
still  were  in  darkness,  and  in  deepest  silence — 
for  even  the  croakings  of  the  frogs  and  the  chirp- 
ings of  the  crickets  had  died  out  softly  as  the 
stars  grew  pale  suddenly  in  the  ghostly  glow  of 
dawn. 

On  he  went,  walking  faster  and  faster  as  he 
drew  near  to  the  hillsides  of  Malemort,  his 
heart  beating  hard !  So  soon  would  he  see  them 
— his  mother,  and  his  brother  Lange  upon 
whom,  though  he  was  a  man  grown,  he  never 
had  laid  eyes!  Very  likely  his  mother  would 
not  know  him.  How  should  she  know  him, 
after  all  these  twenty  years  ?  But  he  would 
make  her  feel  that  it  was  her  own  Pascalet  come 
back  to  her!  Ah,  he  would  hold  her  so  close 
in  his  arms,  he  would  so  weep  with  joy,  that 
she  would  have  no  doubt  of  him!  And  if  she 
still  had  doubt,  he  would  go  to  good  Monsieur 
Randoulet  (Alas!)  the  kind  priest — he  would 
make  her  understand  that  it  was  her  own  Pas- 
calet, at  last  come  home!  He  walked  faster 
428 


all  Strioing  —peace  "         429 


and  faster.     The  nearer  that  he  came  to  the  vil- 
lage the  longer  seemed  the  road. 

Day  was  breaking.  He  began  to  see  about 
him,  and  to  recognise  with  delight  the  old  land- 
marks which  he  remembered  so  well.  There 
was  Claude's  vineyard.  There  were  Monsieur 
Jullian's  poplars.  There  was  Lou  Materoun's 
olive-orchard.  Ancl  there,  crowned  with  the 
great  oaks  which  surrounded  the  Chateau,  was 
the  hill  of  La  Garde.  Just  below  those  oaks, 
hidden  among  the  olive  trees,  was  the  hut  where 
his  father  and  his  mother  had  lived  —  in  which 
he  himself  had  been  born  !  He  walked  faster  — 
faster  ! 

Behind  him  on  the  road  he  heard  the  hoof- 
beats  of  a  galloping  horse.  He  did  not  turn 
—  his  eyes  were  searching  in  the  dim  light  for 
the  spire  of  the  village  church  —  but  as  the 
sound  came  nearer  he  drew  aside  to  leave 
the  way  clear.  He  looked  up  as  the  horse 
came  abreast  of  him  —  and  started  back  sud- 
denly! The  rider  held  a  pistol  in  each  hand 
levelled  straight  at  him,  as  though  to  blow 
out  his  brains! 

Quick  as  a  cat,  he  sprang  up  the  roadside 
bank  and  whipped  out  his  own  pistol  and 
pointed  it.  "  What  are  you  up  to  ?"  he  cried. 
"Go  your  way,  and  let  me  go  mine.  Or 
else  -  " 

"Oiih  !  "  exclaimed  the  horseman,  as  he  reined 
in  to  a  walk.  "  In  this  blinking  twilight  I  took 
you  for  one  of  those  miserable  Royalists.  Pray 
forgive  me,  good  soldier." 

.  The  man's  face  had  a  familiar  look  to  Pasca- 
let,  and  his  voice  had  a  familiar  ring.     "  You 


43°  ®l)e  tUl)ite  terror 

don't  know  me,"  he  said,  as  he  came  down  into 
the  road  again,  "but  I'm  pretty  sure  I  know 
you.  Aren't  you  father  Pantalin — who  used  to 
live  at  the  farm  of  the  Engarrouines,  not  very 
far  from  our  poor  hut  of  La  Garde  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  do  know  me,  and  that's  a  fact. 
Who  are  you,  anyway  ?  " 

"I  am  the  son  of  Pascal  and  of  La  Ratine. 
Don't  you  remember  me,  Pascalet?" 

"What!"  cried  the  astonished  Pantalin. 
He  turned  in  his  saddle,  rested  a  hand  on  the 
flank  of  his  horse,  and  so  leaned  down  and 
stared  at  Pascalet  hard.  "No,"  he  said  slowly, 
"you  can't  be  little  Pascalet  de  la  Patine.  It's 
quite  impossible!" 

"But  why  is  it  impossible?"  Pascalet 
asked. 

"Because  poor  little  Pascalet  de  la  Patine  is 
dead.  He  died  of  the  plague,  off  there  in  Egypt 
with  Bonaparte's  army,  a  good  fifteen  years  ago. 
Celegre,  who  was  a  drummer  out  there,  brought 
the  news.  You  can't  have  come  to  life  again — 
after  your  mother  and  your  brother  wearing 
mourning  for  you,  and  having  masses  said  for 
your  soul! " 

"Then  my  mother,  my  dear  mother,  still  is 
alive  ?  " 

"  Your  mother!  Oh,  come  now,  it  isn't 
right  to  make  fun  like  that.  The  poor  old 
woman's  had  sorrow  enough  as  it  is!  " 

"But  I'm  not  making  fun — any  more  than 
I'm  dead  of  the  plague,  or  of  anything  else.  I'll 
prove  it  to  you.  Listen  now!  Don't  you  re- 
member one  day,  close  upon  thirty  years  ago, 
when  you  and  Big  Satraman  were  setting  a 


"Qlfter  all  Strhring — JJeace"         43 1 

boundary  post  between  your  pastures  ?  Well, 
I  was  there,  playing  about  with  my  pocket  full 
of  cigales,  watching  you.  I  didn't  understand 
what  you  were  doing,  but  it  seemed  to  me  very 
interesting.  You  planted  the  stone  post  in  the 
deep  hole  that  you  had  dug,  and  at  the  sides  of 
it  you  buried  some  broken  glass  and  the  two 
halves  of  a  tile — a  tile  cracked  across  carefully, 
so  that  the  bits  would  come  together  again  in  a 
perfect  joint.  When  you  had  quite  finished, 
you  turned  suddenly  on  me  and  gave  me  a  box 
on  the  ear  that  sent  me  spinning  like  a  top  and 
almost  knocked  me  down;  and  then,  while  I 
still  was  spinning,  Big  Satraman  gave  me  just 
as  hard  a  box  on  the  other  ear  that  sent  me 
spinning  the  other  way!  Then  you  said  to  me: 
'  Little  man,  you  are  young.  As  long  as  you 
live  you'll  remember  that  Big  Satraman  and  I 
together  set  this  stone!'  And  1  do  remember 
it,  you  see,  very  well  indeed!  " 

" Tron-de- pas- goi  !  "  shouted  Pantalin. 
"Every  word  of  that  is  true — and  now  I  do 
believe  that  you  didn't  die  of  the  plague  and 
that  you're  Pascalet!  Well,  that's  good  news 
for  your  old  mother.  I'm  off  to  be  the  first  to 
tell  her!  Hurrah!"  and  Pantalin  slashed  his 
horse  into  a  gallop  and  away  he  went  like  a 
whirlwind  up  the  road! 

Pascalet  followed  him  almost  on  a  run,  his 
heart  very  full.  Day  was  coming  fast.  He 
began  to  see  clearly.  "That's  Toni  Breca's 
window,"  he  said  to  himself.  "That's  Tou- 
massoun's  chimney."  "That's  the  roof  of  the 
town»hall."  Almost  everybody  seemed  to  be 
still  asleep.  Smoke  came  from  only  a  few 


432  ®l)e  tOljite  terror 

chimneys — the  thin  blue  smoke  that  comes  from 
poor  people's  fires. 

Pantalin  dashed  through  the  open  gateway 
of  the  village  and  disappeared.  Pascalet,  fairly 
running  by  this  time,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  gateway — but  not  seeing  clearly,  because 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  On  he  went,  paying 
no  attention  to  the  dogs  that  came  out  from  the 
houses  scattered  along  the  roadside  and  barked 
at  his  heels.  His  sole  thought  was  that  his  dear 
old  mother  was  alive,  and  that  in  only  a  very 
little  longer  he  should  have  her  in  his  arms! 

And  then  through  the  gateway,  uncertainly 
because  of  the  distance  and  because  his  eyes 
were  tear-dimmed,  he  saw  something  white 
fluttering.  It  was  not  a  flag.  It  was  moving — 
and  moving  toward  him.  It  crossed  the  Place 
de  la  Porte,  came  through  the  gateway,  came 
fluttering — a  strange  little  ghost  of  a  thing — 
toward  him  along  the  Carpentras  road.  He 
rubbed  the  tears  from  his  eyes  and  saw  more 
clearly.  It  was  a  little  old  woman,  all  in  white, 
trotting  along  as  fast  as  ever  her  thin  little  old 
legs  could  be  made  to  go.  And  then  there  came 
a  cry  to  him  that  pierced  his  very  heart:  "  Pas- 
calet! My  Pascalet!"  In  another  moment  old 
Patine — in  her  shift,  her  thin  grey  hair  stream- 
ing down  her  shoulders — plunged  breathless  into 
his  arms! 

As  the  labourers  watered  their  mules  and 
asses  at  the  gate-fountain,  there  in  the  early 
morning,  they  saw  the  strong  young  son  pass 
by  them  carrying  his  old  mother  in  his  arms — 
as  though  she  were  the  little  weak  child.  They 
held  each  other  clasped  tight,  without  a  word — 


all  Stritring—  fleace  "         433 


so  sweet  and  sharp  and  strong  was  the  joy  that 
thrilled  their  reunited  souls! 

For  more  than  fifty  years  Pascal  de  la  Patine 
—  for  so,  thenceforward,  did  the  village  folk  call 
him  —  was  an  exemplar  of  upright  living  to  the 
whole  countryside.  He  was  the  joy  and  the 
solace,  the  friend  and  the  counsellor,  of  three 
generations. 

A  simple  peasant,  he  drew  his  living  /rom 
the  earth  and  earned  it  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 
Through  the  long  days  he  toiled,  but  while  his 
body  was  bowed  down  his  soul  ranged  high. 
At  daylight  he  started  for  his  field,  and  not  until 
dark  did  he  return  again—  seated  sidewise  on  his 
grey  mule.  Summer  and  winter,  with  his  good 
grey  mule  helping  him,  he  cultivated  the  land 
that  Adeline  had  given  to  his  mother  and  that 
later  became  his  own. 

Once  in  every  year,  in  the  glad  Christmas 
time,  did  Pascal  give  himself  a  holiday.  Regu- 
larly, when  the  last  Sunday  in  Advent  came,  he 
put  on  his  best  suit  of  good  rough  cloth  and  his 
well-greased  thick  leather  shoes  ;  and  then,  with 
his  pear-tree  staff  in  his  hand,  off  he  started  be- 
fore daylight  for  Malaucene  —  to  spend  the  eight 
days  of  the  blessed  Christmas  season  with  his 
friends  Lazuli  and  Vauclair. 

When  Pascalet  —  to  them  he  always  was  Pas- 
calet  —  reached  Malaucene,  Vauclair  took  off  his 
apron,  put  aside  his  plane,  and  locked  his  shop 
door.  Seated  through  the  bright  day  on  the 
sunny  bench  sheltered  by  the  garden  wall, 
seated  through  the  evening  before  a  rousing 
fire,  the  three  would  talk  and  talk  together 


434  ®l)e  tOI)ite  terror 

about  old  times.  Sad  talk  it  would  be  about 
the  little  house  that  fire  had  eaten  in  Avignon, 
about  the  little  lad  who  died  so  cruelly  just  as 
he  had  grown  to  be  a  man;  but  the  talk  would 
become  glad,  and  Lazuli  would  dry  her  tears 
and  smile  again,  as  it  turned  upon  the  good 
Planchots,  and  upon  the  years  of  quiet  comfort 
there  in  Malaucene.  They  were  not  rich,  those 
good  Vauclairs — but  neither  did  they  fear  that 
the  wolf  would  come  snarling  at  their  door. 
Vauclair  was  a  master-workman  and  trade  was 
brisk  with  him.  Lazuli,  a  very  Martha,  kept 
their  little  house  as  shining  as  a  ring. 

For  the  Christmas  feast  with  Pascalet  out 
would  come  the  dusty  bottles  of  Muscat  de 
Baume  and  of  the  wine  of  the  Popes  ;  on  the 
spit  would  turn  a  turkey  smelling  deliciously  of 
the  truffles  of  Mont  Ventour!  But  even  in  the 
Christmas  feast  there  would  be  always  a  note  of 
sadness.  When  they  had  drunk  to  each  other, 
clinking  glasses,  they  would  sit  silent — until 
their  bitter-sweet  memories  of  the  two  who 
were  not  with  them,  of  Clairet  and  of  Adeline, 
moved  them  to  tears. 

And  then,  the  Christmas  holiday  being  ended, 
Pascalet  would  embrace  Vauclair  and  Lazuli, 
take  his  pear-tree  staff  in  his  hand,  and  be 
off  again  to  Malemort  saying:  "Until  next 
year  ! " 

It  was  while  Pascal  still  was  in  his  pontificat, 
in  his  full  strength  and  power,  that  I  had  the 
happiness  of  hearing  him  tell  the  story  of  his 
life — of  his  childhood,  of  his  battles  in  the  great 
wars.  He  told  us  freely  of  his  joys  and  of  his 
griefs,  but  the  mystery  of  his  love  for  Adeline 


"Sifter  all  Stritring— Peace"         435 

he  kept  always  shut  within  his  heart.  Did  any 
one  speak  of  her,  he  had  no  word  to  say. 

Poor  Adeline  !  After  that  day  when  she 
parted  for  ever  from  her  Pascalet  in  the  convent 
of  the  Ursulines — when  she  gave  back  to  him 
the  three  silver  crowns  which  she  had  treasured 
for  twenty  years,  when  her  hand  and  her  whole 
being  thrilled  with  his  ardent  kisses — the  end 
came  soon  !  She  had  barred  the  door  of  her 
heart,  and  only  a  little  while  her  life  lingered 
behind  those  bars.  Thanking  God  that  He  had 
permitted  her  once  more  to  be  with  her  Pascalet, 
she  loosed  her  hold  upon  a  world  that  held  for 
her  no  happiness.  In  the  May-time,  when  the 
aubepine  bloomed  white  and  sweet,  she  passed 
away! 

Pascal  de  la  Patine  was  worthy  of  this  chaste 
love.  God  had  created  him  with  a  heart  as  loyal 
as  his  soul  was  delicate  and  pure! 

Even  when  Pascal  had  begun  to  nibble  into 
his  ninetieth  year  his  probity  was  an  example  to 
us.  He  felt  the  earth  calling  to  him,  and  over  and 
over  again  he  said  to  us :  "  Dear  friends,  I  shall  die 
soon;  I  certainly  shall  die  soon;  and  when  I  die 
my  brother  Lange  will  die  too — and  then  who 
will  take  care  of  the  mule  ?  "  Then  the  thought 
of  his  good  grey  mule  went  from  his  clouded 
mind  and  his  complaint  changed.  Over  and 
over  again  he  said:  "  1  am  a  wicked  man!  My 
soul  is  damned!  I  merit  death!  I  am  a  wicked 
man!  " 

One  day,  having  slipped  away  from  those 
who  cared  for  him,  he  made  his  way  to  the  roof 
of  his  house.  From  there  we  heard  him  calling: 
"Look  out  below!  I  don't  want  to  hurt  any 


436  ®lK  tOhite  terror 

one!  I  merit  death,  and  death  must  come  to 
me.  But  I  don't  want  to  hurt  anybody.  Look 
out  below !  "  And  there  we  saw  our  dear  good 
old  Pascal  all  ready  to  throw  himself  into  the 
street !  We  saved  the  old  man  by  calling  to  him 
eagerly  that  he  surely  would  hurt  some  one  if 
he  threw  himself  down.  That  appeal  touched 
him.  Back  he  went  through  the  attic  window, 
and  presently  was  down  among  us,  safe  and 
sound. 

We  tried  for  a  long  while  in  vain  to  find  out 
why  he  believed  that  his  soul  was  damned  and 
that  he  deserved  to  die.  But  at  last  out  it  came : 
and — of  all  things  in  the  world — his  crime  was 
that,  nearly  eighty  years  before  as  he  marched 
through  Pierrelatte  with  the  Marseilles  battalion, 
he  had  spitted  a  hen  on  his  bayonet  and  had  not 
paid  for  it !  It  was  the  thought  of  that  theft 
that  had  come  back  to  him  in  his  old  age  and 
had  filled  him  with  remorse !  Argument  had  no 
effect  upon  him.  He  had  stolen  that  hen,  he 
said,  and  therefore  he  was  damned  and  deserved 
to  die! 

At  last,  as  the  only  way  to  clear  his  con- 
science of  this  crime,  1 — I  who  am  telling  you 
this  story — harnessed  up  pur  old  red  horse  to 
our  cart  and  carted  the  simple  good  old  man 
over  to  Pierrelatte  to  pay  his  debt.  I  will  not 
say  that  I  found  the  man  to  whom  that  long- 
dead  hen  had  belonged.  But  I  did  hunt  up  a 
very  old  man,  and  in  Pascal's  presence  explained 
to  him  that  we  had  come  to  pay  for  a  hen  that 
had  been  stolen  almost  eighty  years  before!  He 
could  make  nothing  of  my  story.  But  into  his 
hand  I  thrust  a  crown,  willy-nilly,  and  we  came 


all  Strimng—  peace  "•        437 


away  leaving  him  bewildered.  At  any  rate,  we 
accomplished  what  we  went  for.  Feeling  that 
at  last  his  crime  was  atoned  for,  dear  old  Pascal 
was  satisfied  and  at  peace. 

When  death  had  taken  this  good  old  man 
the  whole  village  thronged  to  his  funeral.  On 
our  way  to  the  grave-yard,  as  it  chanced,  we  met 
the  young  Comte  de  la  Vernede,  Calisto's  son, 
riding  up  to  his  Chateau  of  La  Garde.  "  Who's 
dead,  that  such  a  lot  of  you  are  turning  out  to 
the  funeral  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  Pascal,  the  son  of  La  Patine." 
Without  raising  his  hat  he  spurred  his  horse 
and   rode   on,    muttering   between    his   teeth: 
"One  scoundrel  Red  the  less,  then!" 


THE    END 


D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY'S   PUBLICATIONS. 


BY   ANTHONY    HOPE. 

<~THE    CHRONICLES    OF  COUNT    ANTONIO. 
•*•        With  photogravure  Frontispiece   by  S.  W.   Van  Schaick. 
i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  recounting  than  are  those  of 
Antonio  of  Monte  Velluto,  a  very  Bayard  among  outlaws.  .  .  .  To  all  tho.'e 
whose  pulses  still  stir  at  the  recital  of  deeds  of  high  courage,  we  may  recom- 
mend this  book.  .  .  .  The  chronicle  conveys  the  emotion  of  heroic  adven- 
ture, and  is  picturesquely  written. " — London  Daily  ftews. 

"  It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep 
order.  .  .  .  In  point  of  execution  '  The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio  '  is  the 
best  work  that  Mr  Hope  has  yet  done.  The  design  is  clearer,  the  work- 
manship more  elaborate,  the  style  more  coloied."—  Westminster  Gazette. 

"A  romance  w.orthy  of  all  the  expectations  raised  by  the  brilliancy  of 
his  former  books,  and  likely  to  be  read  with  a  keen  enjoyment  and  a 
healthy  exaltation  of  the  spirits  by  every  one  who  takes  it  up."— The 
Scotsman. 

"  A  gallant  tale,  written  with  unfailing  freshness  and  spirit"— London 
Daily  Telegraph. 

"One  of  the  most  fascinating  romances  written  in  English  within  many 
days.  The  quaint  simplicity  of  its  style  is  delightful,  and  the  adventures 
recorded  in  these  '  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio  *  are  as  stirring  and  ingen- 
ious as  any  conceived  even  by  Weyman  at  his  best." — New  York  World. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count 
Antonio.  .  .  .  The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill, 
and  how  to  hold  his  readers  under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 


T 


HE  GOD  IN  THE    CAR.     New   edition.     Uniform 
th  "  The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio."     lamo.    Cloth, 
$1.25- 

" '  The  God  in  the  Car '  is  just  as  clever,  just  as  distinguished  in  style, 
just  as  full  of  wit,  and  of  what  nowadays  some  persons  like  better  than  wit 
— allusiveness— as  any  of  his  stories.  It  is  saturated  with  the  modern  at- 
mosphere ;  is  not  only  a  very  clever  but  a  very  strong  story ;  in  some 
respects,  we  think,  the  strongest  Mr.  Hope  has  yet  written." — London 
Speaker. 

"A  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of  critical  analysis  impossible 
within  our  limit;  brilliant,  but  not  superficial;  well  considered,  but  not 
elaborated  ;  constructed  with  the  proverbial  art  that  conceals,  but  yet  allows 
itself  to  be  enjoyed  by  readers  to  whom  fine  literary  method  is  a  keen  pleas- 
vre."-London  World. 

"The  book  is  a  brilliant  one.  .  .  .  'The  God  in  the  Car'  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  works  in  a  year  that  has  given  us  the  handiwork  of  nearly 
all  our  best  living  novelists."—  London  Standard. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


A 


D.  APPLETON    AND    COMPANY'S    PUBLICATIONS. 

BY  A.  CONAN    DOYLE. 

Uniform  edition.    lamo.    Cloth,  $1.50  per  volume. 
DUET,    WITH  AN  OCCASIONAL   CHORUS. 

"  Charming  is  tlie  one  word  to  describe  this  volume  adequately. 
Dr.  Doyle's  crisp  style  and  his  rare  wit  and  refined  humor,  utilized  with 
cheerful  art  that  is  perfect  of  its  kind,  fill  these  chapters  with  joy  and 
gladness  for  the  reader."— Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Bright,  brave,  simple,  natural,  delicate.  It  is  the  most  artistic  and 
most  original  thing  that  its  author  has  done.  .  .  .  We  can  heartily  recom- 
mend 'A  Duet'  to  all  classes  of  readers.  It  is  a  good  book  to  put  into  the 
hands  of  the  young  of  either  sex.  It  will  interest  the  general  reader,  and 
it  should  delight  the  critic,  for  it  is  a  work  of  art.  This  story  taken  with 
the  best  of  his  previous  work  gives  Dr.  Doyle  a  very  high  place  in  modern 
letters."— Chicago  Times- H er aid. 

TJNCLE   BERN  AC.     A  Romance  of  the  Empire. 

*-^  "  Simple,  clear,  and  well  defined.  .  .  .  Spirited  in  movement  all 
the  way  through.  ...  A  fine  example  of  clear  analytical  force."— Boston 
Herald. 

HTHE  EXPLOITS   OF  BRIGADIER   GERARD. 

•*•  A  Romance  of  the  Life,  of  a  Typical  Napoleonic  Soldier. 
"  Good,  stirring  tales  are  they.  .  .  .  Remind  one  of  those  adventures  in- 
dulged in  by 'The  Three  Musketeers.'  .  .  .  Written  with  a  dash  and  swing 
that  here  and  there  carry  one  away." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

DODNEY  STONE. 

-*•  *•  "A  notable  and  very  brilliant  work  of  genius."—  London  Speaker. 
"  Dr.  Doyle's  novel  is  crowded  with  an  amazing  amount  of  incident 
and  excitement.  .  .  .  He  does  not  write  history,  but  shows  us  the  human 
side  of  his  great  men,  living  and  moving  in  an  atmosphere  charged  with  the 
spirit  of  the  hard-living,  hard-fighting  Anglo-Saxon." — New  York  Critic. 

DOUND    THE  RED   LAMP. 
•*•*•     Being  Facts  and  Fancies  of  Medical  Life. 

"A  strikingly  realistic  and  decidedly  original  contribution  to  modern 
literature." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

*T*HE   STARK  MUNRO  LETTERS. 

•*•  Being  a  Series  of  Twelve  Letters  written  by  STARK  MUNRO, 
M.  B.,  to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swan- 
borough,  of  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during  the  years  1881-1884. 

"  Cullingworth,  ...  a  much  more  interesting  creation  than  Sherlock 
Holmes,  and  I  pray  Dr.  Doyle  to  give  us  more  of  him."— Richard le  Gal- 
lienne,  in  the  London  Star. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NO  PHOlNih 


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UKL 


two  to  -u* 


MAR  06  1987 


A     000029337     3 


